Drabbles
by FerryBerry
Summary: Various unrelated little Faberry tidbits collected into one spot; generally posted to Tumblr first.
1. I'd Like To & I Get To

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All belongs to Glee writers and creators.

**Sum: **S1. What Quinn would like to do. Humor.

**I'd Like To and I Get To**

"Did you know they came up with a name for us when we were dating?"

Puck sighed. "Nope."

"Puckleberry," Rachel said, grinning when his head snapped up.

"That's humiliating," he said indignantly.

"It's better than the other one they called us."

"What could possibly be worse than—" his nose wrinkled "—Puckleberry?"

Rachel blushed, so Santana said, "Fuckberry."

"I'd like to."

Heads simultaneously whipped around to face the blonde.

Rachel gaped. "What?"

Several more "What?"s followed.

Quinn's head finally rose and she took in the horrified expressions. After a pause, she threw on a startled look and added, "_What_?"

#

She _really_ hadn't meant to say it. Really. Normally she had good control over her brain-to-mouth filter. She'd had to do some fancy footwork to get out of it with the glee kids. Even then, Rachel hadn't been convinced.

Which, Quinn supposed, was a good thing, since she was currently removing said brunette's bra and getting a tongue bath in an empty classroom. If she'd known a simple slip-of-the-tongue was all it took, she would've done it weeks ago.

"I didn't mean to say it," she explained absently.

"It was so…_hot_," Rachel panted. "But less talking. More touching."

Quinn smirked.


	2. Big Gay Beard

**Sum: **S1. Rachel doesn't have quite the reaction Finn was expecting when he tells her his girlfriend is one Quinn Fabray. Humor.

**Big Gay Beard**

"Well, I, uh, have a…girlfriend."

"Really?"

Rachel turned her head away in a vain attempt to mask the jealousy that completely swamped her expression as soon as she heard that fateful word. Of course Finn had a girlfriend. What had she been thinking? He was so cute, and so talented—and the captain of the football team! Obviously some lucky girl had swooped him up. The only question was—

"Who?"

There was an affection in his voice that hadn't been there before when he answered, "Quinn Fabray."

Rachel's head snapped back up so quickly she knew she'd be putting an ice pack on her neck later. _Quinn Fabray?_ He had to be joking!

"Cheerleader Quinn Fabray?" she prompted, and he nodded, getting uncomfortable again. "The president of the celibacy club?"

That hung in the air for a moment, and Rachel thought fast. It all made sense now. How sweet Finn was, how sensitive. She couldn't believe she hadn't seen it the moment they met. Suddenly she felt ten times better about his apparent reluctance to embrace his role as her male lead.

"So you're gay," she said cheerfully.

Finn's eyes bulged. "Wait, _what_? No! I'm—"

"It's all right," Rachel assured him hastily, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm. "It's perfectly natural for you to be hesitant to reveal your true sexuality, what with its potential to destroy your popularity. Don't worry; your secret is safe with me." She smiled. "Although, I do recommend telling Quinn. It isn't fair to lead her on in this fashion, making her believe you return feelings you simply aren't capable of. Unless she knows? Perhaps you have some sort of arrangement that benefits both parties? It would make sense. She _is_ the president of the celibacy club, so advances from hormonal teenage boys are likely unwelcome."

The freakishly tall boy had gone pale, and his jaw flapped soundlessly at her. He was obviously in shock at having his secret discovered so abruptly. Rachel smiled comfortingly and patted his arm again.

"…I…" Finn managed.

"It's all right, Finn. I completely understand your reluctance to confide in me. We have only just met recently, after all, but I assure you that I am here for you no matter what you need. My dads are gay, you know." She grinned.

"But…."

"Oh! We're going in." Rachel linked arms with him. Finn sputtered. "I'm so excited!"

#

Quinn stabbed her pudding with her fork, idly wondering why cafeterias always seemed to supply the exact opposite utensil of what you need to eat the food you got. Maybe it was a conspiracy. Lunch ladies across America were known for being belligerent and hating children, so it might make some sort of sense. They were just trying one more thing to make high schoolers everywhere a little more miserable.

Just the fact that she was considering silverware conspiracy theories was a testament to how bored Quinn was. But then, Finn was talking. So it wasn't really that surprising.

It was only when she saw Santana and Brittany exchange a glance that she decided to listen in, to see what they were looking so disturbed about.

"And she thinks I'm gay, Quinn!" Finn exclaimed, and she noticed for the first time just how red his face was.

Quinn brushed that aside in favor of trying her hardest not to giggle. Some girl thought Finn was gay?

"Wait. Who thinks you're gay?" she asked, forcing her mouth into a frown so she wouldn't grin.

He huffed his exasperation. "Rachel? From glee club? We were—"

The chatter in the cafeteria was pierced by a high, feminine laugh, and Quinn buried her face in her arms in order to quell the body-quaking laughter. She heard Finn fume beside her, but that only made it worse. This was the best thing she'd heard all day. Scratch that—all _month_.

"It's not funny, Quinn!" Finn barked, and she just knew he was folding his arms like a two-year-old.

"No, no, you're right, it's—" She couldn't even finish that sentence.

Rachel…what was her last name again? Carrie? Fairy? Dairy? Oh, right, Berry! Rachel Berry, the overly talented, obnoxiously dressed loser from glee club and Quinn's Spanish class thought Finn was _gay_. Quinn might have to hug her the next time she saw her.

"Okay, you know what? Girls are mean. I'm not talking to them _anymore_," Finn grouched.

Quinn could not resist. "So you've decided to come out, then?"

A grin split her lips and her two cohorts were now snorting behind their hands. If Finn were a cartoon character, steam would've come out his ears. He threw up his hands, disentangling himself awkwardly from the bench, and stormed out in a huff.

"_Girls_!" he bellowed.

Quinn snickered as she turned back to her pudding, but a petite brunette sitting a few tables away caught her eye. As soon as Rachel tore her worried eyes from Finn's retreating form, Quinn grinned at her, and the singer hesitantly smiled back.

If Rachel only knew how ironically funny that really was, Quinn mused.


	3. Huh and Weird

**Sum:** S2. Sam notices something weird about his girlfriend. Humor.

**Huh and Weird**

It wasn't the first time Sam had noticed that Quinn was a little weird when it came to Rachel Berry.

But mostly he'd thought she was weird in the sense that the little diva made her angry—and not just 'you said Beiste's name while we were making out' angry. Like _crazy_, wide-eyed, nostril-flaring angry. As a result, their makeout sessions were always really hot after she interacted with Rachel. So he didn't really think anything of it.

Until today.

"Uh, Quinn, aren't you supposed to be over there?"

It was an honest question. Really. He was pretty sure that, for the choreography on this number, Quinn was supposed to be between Mercedes and Rachel. _Not_ sitting in a chair on the risers with folded arms and crossed legs, looking like someone shoved her off the top of the pyramid. Although…that was actually a serious possibility. Come to think of it, Santana _was_ looking pretty smug.

He filed that information away for later when he realized that Quinn was giving him her 'bad boyfriend' glare. Half the time, he expected her to whip out a rolled up newspaper and smack him on the head with it when she gave him that look. He wondered if she ever did that to Finn. He would have to ask later, and in the meantime, keep newspapers out of Quinn's reach at all times.

"If I was supposed to be over there, I would be," she said sharply, and he offered her a big grin in hopes that it would placate her.

The nostrils flared a little bit, but before she could castrate him for asking, they heard a shrill voice from across the room.

"Quinn! I need you over here!"

Sam liked Rachel. Honestly, he did. He knew most everyone thought she was annoying, and sometimes she was so selfish he wondered how it was even humanly possible. But usually her bubbly-ness just amused him, kind of like Brittany did. But when she shrieked like that, it _really_ hurt his ears.

He was distracted from the ear-bleeding pain when Quinn huffed, rolled her eyes dramatically, and then got to her feet and stomped over, moving obediently to where Rachel positioned her. Sam gaped.

Cause yeah…that was kind of weird. Didn't he—Quinn's boyfriend—just ask a second ago (politely, he might add) if she was supposed to be there and nearly get his head taken off? And now Rachel Berry, whom (that's right, _whom_; their 'study sessions' really were helping) Quinn supposedly hated, _ordered_ her over (which he happened to know from painful experience she did _not_ like) and she just…did it.

Sam frowned, scratching his head. Rachel was chattering away, exchanging a grin with Mercedes before the other girl said something to make her burst into laughter. Quinn's mouth and eyes softened, for just a second, before she was back to the cold statue again. Huh.

Quinn was a mystery, and this was another piece of the puzzle, Sam decided. She was really freaking weird when it came to one Rachel Berry.

#

Sam hadn't thought about Quinn's weirdness, or really, Rachel Berry in general, for quite some time. He hadn't really needed to, what with that electric performance with Quinn at Sectionals and all. She'd looked at him with so much adoration in her eyes…he felt like it kind of made up for any special privileges Rachel got that he didn't. Because, well, when did Quinn ever look at Rachel that way?

That would be never. Because she still acted like she hated the girl's guts, and even though their makeout sessions had been fewer and farther between lately since all that crap that happened at Sectionals, Sam didn't really feel the need to worry about it. They were still hot when they did happen.

But today, all that stuff he'd been thinking about concerning Quinn's weirdness when it came to Rachel kind of came flooding back. It started with the sharp intake of breath, almost like someone hit her in the stomach, when Mr. Schuester said, "Rachel, Puck, haven't you guys been working on something? Why don't you give it a whirl?"

Sam turned immediately to his girlfriend, placing a cautious hand on her shoulder, and her hazel eyes flickered from the pair across the room to meet his eyes. She drew in a deep breath and blew it out, a small, pinched smile showing up on her lips to reassure him. He smiled back before her attention was grabbed away by a huff, and he turned to see what Rachel would say, too.

"Fine," she said sharply, and Puck started taking off his letterman right away. He was a little whipped. Quinn shifted in his peripheral vision. "As offended as I am by their presence here, I won't let anything get in the way of a performance."

She stood abruptly, shot one of those scary ass glares at the rest of the football players, and marched to the front while the Beiste and Mr. Schue took seats and Puck grabbed his guitar. While they were setting up with the band, Sam took a glance around.

Finn looked really pissed all of a sudden, but Sam had no sympathy. Seriously, the dude broke up with her. In Sam's book, that meant he had no right to be jealous. Of course, he couldn't talk to the guy about it since he was acting all high and mighty and…well, kind of slutty, if he was being honest. It was a little creepy.

Quinn shifted again, lifting her knees to straighten her thighs tight together and then putting her elbow on a knee, her chin on the palm of her hand. She seemed to do this when she was uncomfortable, he noticed. Like she was curling in on herself or something. He didn't get to dwell, because then Rachel started belting it.

One of Sam's favorite things about Rachel was her voice, though usually she presented things all dramatic and stuff and it kind of made him uncomfortable. This time, though, he had to admit she was being kind of sexy, looking out from under her hair with this whole bedroom eyes thing going on. It totally helped that her dress wasn't super bright like usual, and even though it had flowers on it, they weren't like Hawaiian shirt size or anything like that.

Also the cleavage on that dress was, like, perfect. So what if he didn't really want to tap that and he had a girlfriend? He was a guy with eyes, and Rachel was looking good. Puck looked like he totally agreed.

The badass was looking at her like he just wanted to eat her up, which Sam couldn't help but smile at. The dude was really whipped by the little diva, and it was hilarious considering how scary he normally was.

Sam started to sway a little when they hit the chorus, Rachel smiling up at Puck with this special fondness she seemed to reserve just for him and heading toward their section of the room. Their voices sounded great together, and he was really getting into it, tapping his foot, when he realized he hadn't seen Quinn move once this entire time.

He looked over at her, and all that weirdness? He remembered it all of a sudden, because her eyes were tracking Rachel's every move, but not with her usual laser-like intensity. Her hazel eyes had gone soft, like they had that day he first noticed it, and this time it didn't go away so fast. Instead it lingered, her expression relaxing and going somewhere between pained and adoring, and Sam realized with sudden clarity that while Rachel stood at the front of the room, singing the last of the chorus with all her heart and soul like always, Quinn was looking at her with something a lot like longing.

A lot like desire. And he realized she never looked at _him_ that way.

Sam froze all movement then, taking a look at Quinn's clasped hands, almost like she was praying—he hadn't noticed her shifting positions there—and her desperately sad eyes as they followed Rachel back across to the piano. They flickered to Puck as he picked up his part, but it was only a fraction of a second, barely there to see. Sam only saw it because…well, he couldn't tear his eyes away. He'd never seen his girlfriend this open. So…vulnerable.

He was starting to realize when Rachel entered back into the song and Quinn sucked in a breath—sharp, like before, except this time like she was trying to clear the sound of her own breathing just so she could hear her sing better—that her weirdness wasn't just some mysterious part of her he couldn't figure out. It was really simple, and it was right there in front of him, and it wasn't easy for her at all, that weirdness. It was painful.

Sam suddenly wanted to hug his girlfriend, but he was too afraid of breaking her spell, of startling the wits out of her. And he also…well, he _didn't_ want to hug her, either. Because of what this all meant.

He was stuck there, not knowing what to do—torn between being comforting and being scared for his relationship—when the song ended and Puck and Rachel were laughing and slinging arms around each other while everyone clapped (even some begrudging football players), and Quinn jumped like she'd just been woken up from a really good dream. He guessed she had been.

She tightened her expression again, trying to get back to that coldness she was so good at, and Sam was suddenly just scared for both of them. He took her hand abruptly, and she looked up at him with surprise in her eyes, because he knew she forgot he was there. He smiled weakly, and fear flashed in her eyes when she realized exactly why. When he squeezed her hand again, though, she frowned in confusion. He couldn't really answer the question on her lips, however, because he didn't know the answer himself.

So Sam just shrugged, and smiled, and turned back to the front of the room. Quinn joined him a moment afterward in pretending to listen to the Beiste and Mr. Schue, and then she squeezed his hand, thanking him silently.

He didn't know exactly where this left them, or where this was going to go. The whole thing was just really weird. But Sam did know he was going to be there for Quinn, through thick and thin, so he squeezed right back, and she smiled.


	4. Jealousy

**Sum: **Rachel doesn't experience jealousy the same way everyone else does. Angst.

**Jealousy**

She didn't feel it the way everyone else did. Or, at least, she didn't think anyone else experienced it quite this way. If they did, she had never seen it. And she had seen it a lot in her few years at McKinley High School. Everyone had fallen prey to it at one point or another.

Artie became its victim when Tina left him for Mike.

Brittany was its constant plaything while Santana brushed her aside for fresh meat.

Kurt—first for Finn, now Blaine.

Mercedes—once, over Noah and against Santana.

Mike—over the way Tina still rushed to Artie's side in his defense, even with Brittany right there. Even with Mike right there.

Santana—anyone who touched Puck or Brittany was grass in her mind, and Artie Abrams had dug himself a six-foot hole in the ground.

Tina—over the way Artie grasped Brittany's hand instead of hers when they rushed to his aid.

Finn, Noah, Sam—over Quinn, forever and always.

Rachel loathed that she fell under the same category, and that no one was jealous of her because of Quinn. It was unfair. Finn was jealous of Noah for being her first, for having a baby with her, and of Sam for winning her over with Bieber, of all things. Noah was jealous of Finn and Sam for being with her in any serious capacity whatsoever. Sam was jealous of Noah for the same reason Finn was, and jealous of Finn for being her first love and stealing her out from under him. But nobody was jealous of Rachel.

Rachel didn't hold any corner of Quinn's heart. First boyfriend, first sex, first love. None of it. She wasn't Quinn's first anything. She wasn't Quinn's anything. But she was jealous of everyone else for it.

Jealous of Finn, Noah, Sam. Jealous of Kurt and Mercedes for being close friends with her. Jealous of Santana and Brittany for being her best friends once upon a time. Jealous of Artie, Mike, Tina for getting smiles and praise from her. Rachel was jealous of _everyone_, and it was exhausting.

But again, she didn't feel it the way the rest of them felt it. Not even the way Quinn did. It didn't make her burn with anger, didn't make her lunge to lay her claim to what she didn't possess, didn't make her do crazy things like date other people for the sole purpose of getting notice, or worm her way into a friendship and give her 'accidental' poor love advice (how could she even attempt a friendship when Quinn would never look at her?), didn't get into psychotic catfights in the hallways; what good would it do? All three of those boys could crush her under the toe of their boot, and Quinn wouldn't care a lick.

For Rachel, jealousy was crushing. It was a lonely pit. Unlike with her talent, she didn't fight for attention; she didn't scrabble to crawl out of that pit. She didn't bother. First, because what was the point? And second, because if she was good enough, Quinn wouldn't be looking at Finn with a twinkle in her eye. She wouldn't be pressing her hand thoughtfully over her stomach when she glanced at Noah. And she wouldn't be beaming with enjoyment at Sam's shameless display and sneering at Rachel's.

The fact of the matter was, Rachel knew she wasn't good enough for Quinn. She knew she would never have her. It didn't make it hurt less, and it didn't make her heart stop cracking a little each time she caught those moments—moments of affection toward friends, of lust toward romantic interests. If anything, it only made it fracture more. She was a perfectionist, after all, but this wasn't something she could argue her way out of, proofread her way through, practice to death.

She was Rachel Berry, through and through, inside and out, flaws and talents. And Quinn Fabray would never love her. She would never be good enough.

And so jealousy didn't anger her. It crushed her.


	5. The Way I Danced With You

**Sum: **S2E20. Quinn's unseen song. Angst.

**The Way I Danced With You**

A few hours ago, Quinn was absolutely positive she wouldn't have been nervous about getting up on that stage in front of her peers and belting the song Mr. Schuester had assigned to her. Well, belting was a loose term, considering the 'sweet delicacy' of her voice, as Rachel put it when they were working on their mash-up duet.

She flinched just at the thought of the other girl, and not for the reasons she had a couple years ago. She couldn't help it. Every time her eyes flickered over to her now—which was fairly often, as Rachel was not-so-subtly making a point of staying near her, like she was keeping an eye on her or something—or she had a thought including her—which was more than fairly often, if she was being completely honest—that moment replayed in her head. That moment when she spun completely out of control, let out the fury that had been building since the moment she read a plus sign two years ago on the cheapest pregnancy test on the shelf, and took it out on someone. Hit someone.

And not just someone. _Rachel_.

She had looked so shocked. Rightly so, of course, but what struck Quinn the most in the too-fresh memory was just that look in her eyes as Rachel had searched her own. It wasn't anger or betrayal or tears or anything else she might've expected. She had just looked hurt. And though understanding flooded her expression, overtaking all other emotion, and she had forgiven Quinn as easily as if she had only borrowed something without asking or…God, like she was just trying to give her a high five and missed, well…it made Quinn feel physically sick to remember it.

And now she had to get up on stage, feeling like this, and sing a song that yesterday didn't really hold much meaning to her, but now it was all she could think about as she stared up at the stage with a clenching stomach and fidgeting, clammy hands. She didn't know if she could do it. She wasn't brave, not like people thought she was. Not like Kurt was.

Quinn took a deep, shuddering breath when she felt hands on her shoulders. She felt herself tremble from the surprise of it, but she was trembling for entirely different reasons when she felt hot breath wash her neck and a sweet, encouragingly bright voice whispered in her ear, "You'll be great."

And then the hands gave her a little push and she stumbled forward and before she knew it, she was staring cross-eyed down at the bedazzled microphone everyone had begged Rachel not to touch—to no avail, obviously. Movement in the crowd caught her eye as Rachel hurried back to one of her three dates, Sam welcoming her with a bright smile and open arms that she easily swept into. But her eyes went up to Quinn on stage, and her smile was for Quinn.

Quinn swallowed the lump in her throat and turned to nod at the band to begin, and she closed her eyes, counting through the beats as the saxophonist belted the familiar tune behind her. She swayed her hips in rhythm to aid her stumbling brain. She was almost positive she had forgotten the lyrics, but when she finally finished counting, her eyes snapped open and she found Rachel and it all came flooding back as she sang, tentatively.

_I feel so unsure_

_As I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor_

_As the music dies, something in your eyes_

_Calls to mind a silver screen and all its sad goodbyes_

She felt herself start to shiver from the repeated recollection, that hurt in Rachel's eyes—making this song so terribly applicable—even as her voice gained momentum and strength. It was weird, hearing her amplified voice come back to her from the speakers, but she pushed past it and focused on Rachel on the dance floor, unable to tear her eyes away, just as Rachel had been unable to look away during Jar of Hearts. Quinn had to remind herself it was Finn she was looking at, not her.

_I'm never gonna dance again_

_These guilty feet have got no rhythm_

_Though it's easy to pretend_

_I know you're not a fool_

She didn't know when exactly when Rachel realized she had been staring, all she knew was that Rachel wasn't looking away, even as Sam swayed her on the dance floor. Her attention remained on Quinn, watching her open herself up on stage, in front of everyone, as Rachel was brave enough to do every day, but Quinn had only been brave enough to do for Rachel. And not even that was entirely willingly. It just seemed to happen around her…maybe it was the fact that Rachel seemed to know her more intimately than the rest of the world, seemed to see right through all her bullshit.

Even when Quinn treated her like a stupid schoolgirl.

_I should have known better than to cheat a friend_

_And waste a chance that I'd been given_

_So I'm never gonna dance again_

_The way I danced with you_

It amazed her that after everything…Rachel still forgave her. No matter how Quinn had wronged her, she always came back with a smile and an offer of friendship. One that was usually shoved back in her face. Tonight was probably the first night she hadn't received the burn of rejection from Quinn, and she was ashamed to say it was likely only because she'd slapped her. It had certainly opened her eyes. To what she'd become, to what she was missing out on, everything.

She locked gazes with Rachel, trying to communicate telepathically or just somehow, that things were different now. Things were going to change, because Quinn would never go down that road again.

_Time can never mend_

_The careless whispers of a good friend_

_To the heart and mind, ignorance is kind_

_There's no comfort in the truth, pain is all you'll find_

She knew that even this unspoken promise wasn't enough to make up for the past. For the insults, the pornographic drawings. Now for physically harming her. She wasn't sure anything she did could ever truly make up for past transgressions, even the painful truth behind them.

If Rachel knew…she could only imagine her reaction. Shock, disgust, anger. All three were the reactions Quinn herself had to it. She could hardly believe that anyone with feelings like hers could behave the way she had toward the object of those feelings. It was best Rachel never knew, no matter how much it would pain Quinn to continue her self-imposed isolation.

_Tonight the music seems so loud_

_I wish that we could lose this crowd_

_Maybe it's better this way_

_We'd hurt each other with the things we want to say_

No matter how much she wanted to be alone with Rachel again, the way they had been in the bathroom, when Rachel's eyes had only been for her as she took care of her so gently. Perhaps it had only been her makeup, her tears, but Quinn had never felt more cared for, never safer—except from herself. She still wanted so much to blurt out…well, everything.

How sorry she was, how much she envied Rachel for her happy family life, her set future. How much she wanted to share that future with her.

All she'd been able to do was lean into every gentle touch and bite her cheek hard.

_We could have been so good together_

_We could have lived this dance forever_

_But now who's gonna dance with me?_

_Please stay_

Quinn was horrified to realize she wasn't able to tear her eyes from Rachel even as she sang out this verse, as she'd been intending to. Her eyes didn't want to take in anything else but the beautiful girl cradled in Sam's arms, the girl who was giving her hands to Sam and her attention to Quinn, baring her heart on stage. So all she could do was own it, to let the tears rise up in her hazel eyes, to show the ache she felt at knowing she would not only never be able to have what she so desperately wanted—more than Prom Queen, more than a chance out of Lima—but that she had quite possibly just scared Rachel away for good with her more-than-obvious proclamation.

_Now that you're gone_

_Was what I did so wrong?_

_So wrong that you had to leave me alone?_

She wasn't exactly sure what Rachel was doing, but the closer the band came to a close, the more nervous Quinn became. Her hands were trembling again and her palms felt dry and sweaty all at once as she watched the diva gently extricate herself from Sam and stride back toward the stage, where Quinn would have no choice but to step off. She swallowed hard, hoping it would shove down the fear rising in her gut, but in vain.

She waited out the applause, watched Mercedes coming up for another turn at the mic, and turned to face what she was sure would be her doom. Rachel's expression was completely unreadable and it was frightening. Usually she was like an open book, and it was something Quinn truly enjoyed about her. Not only was she easy to read, but she wasn't afraid of it, either. She didn't mind that people knew exactly how she felt at all times.

The feeling was a little too frightening for Quinn at the moment, so she highly doubted she would be doing anything like this ever again.

She probably could have dodged Rachel, just walked away and went to dance with some other glee club member, but the girl was relentless. She'd find her, corner her, some way, somehow tonight if she really wanted to talk to her. So she stepped up to the brunette waiting for her just off the stage, facing the firing squad with so much fear she refused to show. Well, aside from her shaking hands.

Rachel shifted closer, stealing Quinn's breath away with the heat of the sudden proximity, and she said nothing, but her hand lifted and Quinn flinched, so sure she was going to finally get what she deserved from the beautiful little diva. Payback she deserved.

But then there was only a whisper of a touch ghosting along her temple, along the ridge of her ear as soft fingers tucked a strand of wild hair away. Quinn felt herself shudder and knew Rachel probably saw it, with her nearness. And then a full, warm palm cupped her cheek, thumb swiping along the bone beneath, and Quinn's eyes snapped open in surprise, only widening when she saw how much closer Rachel had gotten, her warm breaths ghosting over Quinn's own lips as she arched up on her tiptoes and, just as before, whispered three words:

"Dance with me."


	6. Someday

**Sum: **S3. Quinn and Rachel's awkward new friendship comes to a heated head. Romance.

**Someday**

I have no idea how this happened. Well, I mean, I sort of do. But…

Rachel and I have been awkward friends since Nationals and me making sure Santana didn't gut her with one of her hidden razor blades. I gave up on Finn, and she strengthened her efforts to get me to like her. Not that I ever really hated her, it was just that she occasionally irritated me, mostly when she was with Finn. So once in a while, she would come complain to me about Finn or Mr. Schuester or whatever, and I never turned her away, I just listened, and it became more frequent.

Sometimes I would even unload on her, and she listened right back.

It was a little weird when we tried to hang out, but usually a movie and popcorn would make things easier on us. We'd just sit back on the couch, the bowl resting on my lap, and eventually she would worm her way over to lean against me, for better access to the popcorn. Sometimes I'd sling an arm around her shoulders, and it was pretty comfortable.

I'd even grown to like her, consider her a friend. And yes, there was a part of me that found her really attractive, but I pushed that aside in favor of what she was already giving me—what I was already enjoying well enough without changing things.

But tonight, Rachel came to me beyond upset, ranting about Finn's idiotic antics as usual (this time he broke up with her, all because he didn't think he could handle the distance with her being in New York, which…he knew she was going there all along, so…), and just when I got her calmed down, she started talking about me. Well, us.

How she wished she had listened to me back in that auditorium last year—_really_ listened. How she wished she had been there for me, gotten to know me, instead of obsessing over a boy who isn't even there when she most needs him. And how rewarding our friendship has been to her, how much I've come to mean to her.

I'm not really sure who made the first move after that. I only know that somehow we ended up on my couch, her above me with her hands on either side of my head, bracing herself on the arm of it, while I explore her torso beneath her shirt, skin-to-skin. Making out like there's no tomorrow.

And it is honestly the best kiss I've ever had. Forget fireworks; my whole _body_ is humming with barely tamed excitement. Her tongue is magical.

Only suddenly that tongue is gone, followed by cherry lips, and she's climbing off of me quickly, pulling down her shirt and gasping for breath as she says, "Wait, wait. No. This…this isn't fair."

I half-sit up, brow furrowed, as I watch her pace back and forth across my living room, trying to grasp in my lust-filled haze why she isn't still on top of me.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry, Quinn. This was completely unfair to you. I shouldn't have done this," she pants, running her hand through her long hair, smoothing it back down.

I really don't know what to say, but she's obviously expecting something, so I just say the first thing that comes to mind: "Okay."

She gapes at me. "'Okay'? That-that's it?"

"I…yes?"

"Aren't you furious with me?" she shrieks, and I wince at the volume. "I just came over to your house to complain about your ex-boyfriend and, well, mine now, and then throw myself at you and then change my mind and all you can say is 'okay'?"

Obviously she's not getting back on top of me anytime soon, so I ease into a standing position and smooth down the wrinkles in my clothes, looking down at her intently so she won't think of looking away. "Pretty much." She looks incredulous. "Look, we both know what's going on here. You're upset with Finn, you want comfort. I'm not complaining."

"Well, maybe you should be! I'd basically be using you and I…I wouldn't even be able to look at you afterward," she mumbles, folding her arms protectively.

It stings a little, and I can't help but query softly, "Why not?"

"Because I…" She falters, biting her lip. "I would want it to mean something." My heart skips a beat as she meets my eyes and sucks in a breath. "Quinn, I want to have sex with you." If she's trying to talk me out of this, it's not really working. "But not under these circumstances. I still have feelings for Finn, and I won't do that to you. I won't ruin what we have over Finn Hudson, Quinn. You mean too much to me."

Damn it. The warmth in my chest I get just looking at her doubles and I can't help but reach to stroke her hair back from her face, smiling when she leans into my touch.

"Okay."

She lets out a small chuckle and says quietly, "You're too good to me." She bites her lip again, looking up at me doe-eyed. "Maybe…someday…?"

I nod, and she grins the way that makes her eyes sparkle and my heart beat faster. "Yeah, someday."


	7. If We Ever Meet Again

**Sum: **Future. Quinn and Rachel share a painful reunion. Angst.

**If We Ever Meet Again**

"Rachel."

It should probably sound like a question after all these years, but it isn't. I'd know that nose, that face, that smile—those eyes—anywhere. The smile fades when she takes me in, pink hospital robe tucked around me, hair up in a lopsided bun, dried sweat sticking to my forehead. Standing in front of the viewing area—for babies.

It isn't what she thinks it is, and I so desperately want to say that, to explain that that's not why I'm here, that I haven't moved on from her. Probably never will. But her eyes are guarded and her smile goes up again, but not the real one, and I choke on the words that might bring it back.

"Quinn. It's been a long time," she says, and wanders closer, every move cautious. Her eyes flicker over to the rows of infants beyond the glass, and I think she must be guessing which one's mine. Again, I want to say none of them are, that I wandered here on my own because I couldn't sleep after my earlier ordeal, that I couldn't stop thinking of Beth. The words die in my throat, and all I can do is nod, taking her in. "How have you been?"

She's in a red dress, one that looks like it should be being shown off on a red carpet somewhere while she smiles and poses and simply looks radiant. Not in some hospital hallway talking to an old high school…something. Her hair is down in light curls, one of the many ways I've always liked it. She looks beautiful, so much so that I almost can't speak.

"I've been better. How about yourself?"

She falters, gesturing behind her. "All right. My dad just gave us a bit of a scare. We thought he was having a heart attack in the middle of the limo, but it turns out it was just a bad case of heartburn from the Chinese we had earlier." She chuckles lightly and I can't help but smile at the sound, though it doesn't last. Soon enough she's sobering and looking at me like I imagine I look at the magazines I see with her face on them—often with a male 'friend.' Like there's an ache in her heart that just won't go away, no matter how hard she tries to forget it. "I've really missed you, Quinn."

I hate myself, because I can't do anything but nod—again. And then I hate the man she's with, not just because she's with him, but just as I'm starting to tell her I've missed her, too, that I want to see her again, to never stop seeing her, he calls from down the hall, "Rach! You coming?"

"Just a second!" she calls, but the brief pause before the words gives me hope. And then she looks at me, heartbroken all over again, and my own clenches in response as she says, "It was great seeing you. Um, congratulations."

And then she's hurrying away, high heels clacking the floor with every step, never to know that a congratulations wasn't really in order. Not when I'm here because the doctor wanted to keep me for observation after the trauma of the fire that erupted in my building. Not when I let the woman I've always loved walk away from me again, because I just can't seem to get over this paralyzing fear to do something, to say something, for me.

I see her about to disappear around the corner, and she glances back, and maybe this time it's not for me. Maybe it's for both of us.

I tighten my grip on the IV drip at my side and suck in a breath.


	8. Preggers

**Sum: **Future. Quinn comes home after a long, hard day - to the best ending she could imagine. Family.

**Preggers**

I have had the longest, shittiest day in history. All I want is to come home, eat dinner, and lay in bed with my beautiful wife until we fall asleep. And yet, it just keeps getting worse. The strap of my purse gets caught in the revolving door, the elevator is down (again) so I have to walk up ten flights of stairs because neither of us like the ground floor and I'm starting to think we're crazy for that, and then I, of course, drop my keys as soon as I actually get them out of my purse.

Great freaking day.

When I finally get it unlocked, I drop my keys next to hers on the stand we were originally going to use for mail and kick off my shoes, shouting, "Rachel! I've had the worst day of my entire life, so it would be great if we could skip our usual showdown on Scrabble tonight and just relax. I promise to kick your ass tomorrow." I drop my briefcase next to the couch and yank off my coat, catching her enter from the kitchen in the corner of my eye. "You would not believe how horrid it was in there today. I mean, first I get in and my assistant tells me my boss canceled my morning meetings, so of course I'm thinking, 'Shit, I'm getting laid off' and then I find out he really wants me to spend the whole morning working on training a bunch of interns, which you know I hate because they always ask the dumbest questions and I seriously wonder if these kids were in the right building, because dear God."

"Quinn," she says softly, but I'm not in the mood to be calmed down.

"They were like a bunch of lost sheep. In fact, they kind of reminded me of a room of Finn Hudsons. Like you _want_ to be nice and patient, but they're so annoying you just can't do it." I huff, leaning against the arm of the couch. "So then, after I'm done with them, I'm on lunch break, right? Wrong. Because I didn't do my morning meetings, I had to call every single one of them and explain the situation, because Janet can't handle being yelled at—the girl reads romance novels at her desk, for crying out loud."

"Quinn, darling."

"And of course my boss couldn't have just had her explain the situation _when_ she called to cancel. So I spent like half my afternoon getting reamed out and then I still had filing and all this other shit to do, half of which has to wait until tomorrow because I wasted so much time with those interns, and then I practically ran my heels off at the end of the day trying to hunt down the lady from HR who's been giving me the runaround about time off so you don't have to be going to these doctor's appointments alone; so I could really use a foot massage later, if you don't mind, baby." I kiss her forehead. "But when I caught up with her, it was time for both of us to clock out. But don't worry, I'm not going to let her keep doing this to me, okay?"

"Quinn."

"Yes, baby?" I feel the tension of the day work its way out of my body now that I'm home, with my gorgeous wife, and all of that nasty stuff is out in the open and off my chest. I soak in the pleasant atmosphere of our apartment, and only then do I smell— "Bacon? You made bacon?"

A smile lifts the corners of her lips briefly before she says, "Yes, but—"

I grin and grasp her hand, tugging her into the kitchen with me, where I see she's set the table quite nicely: two high candles, a lovely centerpiece with gardenias, a bottle of champagne, each of our favorite dishes on each side of the table, and even a tablecloth, which we usually don't bother with considering that that table has been on the receiving end of some heavy loads before. Suddenly I'm a little nervous. Did I forget an anniversary, or something?

I couldn't possibly. I always remember. Unless today drove me so crazy that—

"Quinn. I have something to tell you."

Oh, God. What happened? I face her, instantly worried, and she struggles for a moment, biting her lip.

"Rachel?"

"I went to the doctor today and, um…"

There are suddenly butterflies in my stomach, because God, this has to be a good thing, right? All the other times, we never made fancy dinners like this, we only held each other, reaffirmed our love for each other, promised to try again. I squeeze both her hands tightly in mine.

"Yes?"

A small smile lifts her lips, and she gives me a little nod. "I'm pregnant."

For a moment, all I can do is stare while my heart beats in my ears and I stare at the woman I love. And then it sets in, and I'm squealing and scooping her up in my arms until her feet are no longer on the floor, and she laughs and hugs me as tight as she can, and I'd be absolutely, perfectly happy in this moment if I could just taste her lips, so I lean back to do just that, but can't help but pause to grin at her sparkling eyes. She grins back.

"For-for good this time?" I ask, frightened and excited for the answer, and she bobs her head so cutely; it's a habit she never lost from high school, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

"She said I'm about two months in, and I'm in excellent health. Barring any unforeseen complications, this one's a keeper," she says tearfully, and I squeeze her tighter, kissing her as many times as I can without actually taking my lips away.

"God, I love you, Rachel," I murmur against her lips, claiming them again shortly.

She pulls back from me, cupping my cheeks and gently stroking my skin, running her fingers through my hair. "I love you, too." She kisses me sweetly, then says, "Now put me down so we can have a proper celebratory meal together. Since I can no longer partake in the delights of alcohol, I intend on getting you very drunk, Mrs. Fabray." She grins cheekily.

A mischievous smirk rises on my face before I can stop it, and I heave her higher in my arms, until her legs are around my waist. "I have a better idea," I purr, and it takes me only three minutes to get her to stop lecturing me about how long it took her and how we're wasting good food. Which is, by the way, a record.


	9. How It Should Have Happened

**Sum: **How Season 2 should have ended and how Season 3 should have begun. Humor.

**How It Should Have Happened**

Hiram Berry slung his suit jacket over his shoulder with a great sigh in place of the yawn threatening to surface. It had been a long day, and an even longer few days without his mini-Berry. Though they had exchanged texts and a couple of phone calls while she was in New York, it just wasn't the same as having his bubbly girl at home with him. And he hadn't even been able to come home early (either today or yesterday) to see her now that she and the glee club were back.

He swung his arm in the air to slide his shirt down enough to check his watch and frowned thoughtfully. It was a little late, but not nearly as late as it had been the previous night. Perhaps he could steal a goodnight kiss from his sleeping beauty before he joined Leroy for their nightly cuddling session while they rewatched episodes of Queer as Folk.

He rapped his knuckles lightly on the gold star emblazoned door and heard a quiet gasp from within.

"Just a minute, Daddy!" his angel called, and he smiled when he heard her rustling around inside, probably diving into bed so as not to be caught up at this hour. "Come in!"

He grinned, twisting the doorknob and finding his little star tucked deep under her blankets, covered up to her neck. She smiled bashfully at him.

"Hi, Daddy."

"Hello, darling. Shouldn't you be asleep?" he asked mock-sternly, striding over to sit on the edge of the bed. She smiled sheepishly again.

"I was just about to, actually. You know you and Dad never have to worry about me in that department. A healthy eight hours of sleep at night is incredibly important to a teenager's development and—"

His deep chuckle interrupted her rant and he swept some stray hair back from her face, noting that she felt a little warm. "I missed you, pumpkin."

She flashed him a brilliant grin. "I missed you, too, Daddy."

"Get some rest. This weekend we'll go on a family trip to that vegan place in Columbus you love so much. Catch up on all that McKinley High gossip of yours." He winked.

"That sounds wonderful, Daddy."

"All right. Sleep tight, babygirl," he said, leaning in to kiss her forehead—still warm. "And you may want to consider putting your winter blanket away soon. Getting kind of warm out there."

"Yes, Daddy."

He exchanged one last smile with her before wandering toward the door, hearing her faint, "Night!" as he shut it firmly and headed down the hall for some quality time with his husband.

Back in Rachel's bedroom, she breathed a sigh of relief, her heart finally slowing a bit as a head of short blonde hair appeared from under the blankets, a hot, soft body covering her own before the silence was broken with an urgent whisper from one Quinn Fabray: "Do you think he knew I was here?"

#

"That was…" Rachel gasped for breath, laying limp against her stack of pillows, unable to do much else but grab at the fabric with clammy fingers and try to suck in air from the strenuous workout she'd just been put through.

It wasn't long before the still-chopped locks of blonde came into view, surfacing from under the sheets before flopping to Rachel's side, a smirk planted firmly on pink lips.

"Yes?" Quinn prompted, eager to hear her praise of the evening. Her ego may or may not have taken a gigantic boost since all this started, but hey, you would be smug, too, if Rachel Berry complimented you on your skills as a lover after every time you gave her a 'happy', as Brittany called it.

Rachel panted. "No…words…"

The smirk instantly inflated into a grin and Quinn rolled onto her side, propped herself up on her elbow as her other hand trailed, feather light, up and down Rachel's arm, eliciting a shiver. Rachel's head lolled to the side and she smiled around her breaths, gradually regulating them until she no longer felt like she'd run a 10K marathon.

"Well, just consider it a little something to hold you over before we have to go back to sneaking around again," she replied somewhat glumly, her smugness ebbing just the tiniest bit at the prospect.

"I can't believe we've been doing this for three months and no one has noticed a thing," Rachel said, a giggle tagging along her words.

Quinn smirked back, trailing her hand farther down her arm, tracing circles around her elbow. "I know. Not even Sam and Mercedes lasted this long."

She bobbed her head in acknowledgment. "I mean, I know it's summer so our time together as a group is often limited, but you would think _someone_ would have gotten a little suspicious when you took it upon yourself to explain to Finn why I wouldn't be engaging in a relationship with him for the third time. And oh-so calmly, as well."

A little twist of her lips let Quinn know she was most certainly being mocked, and she narrowed her eyes in response.

"Hey, he _clearly_ wasn't getting the picture how you were explaining it, so I did you a favor," she growled, and when Rachel had nothing to say to this, she calmed a bit, feeling vindicated. "Besides, it's not like you weren't completely obvious about the whole suntan lotion thing." She arched a brow meaningfully, and Rachel turned beet red.

"I was just—you were—bikini—and—"

"Yes, I know. I'm hot. Can't really blame you for wanting to put your hands all over me," she said wistfully, and the brunette gave her a playful shove to the shoulder, huffing and folding her arms with a pronounced pout when the deed was done. Quinn merely grinned. "'Oh, baby. Let me rub this cool lotion all over your half-naked body and maybe graze your boob a lit'—"

She shrieked with laughter when Rachel instantly went back to shoving, grabbing her wrists and struggling with her until she had her pinned to the mattress. Quinn was so pleased she hadn't given up on working out just as rigorously as she had when she was on the Cheerios over the summer—not only was the sex better, but she got to win arguments like this. She flashed a predatory grin down at the huffing girl, who was still straining against her hands.

"You are _freakishly_ strong, Quinn Fabray," Rachel grumbled through her gritted teeth, and Quinn just smirked, leaning her body down into her heavily.

"And you are freakishly cute, Rachel Berry."

Before Rachel could recover from the surprise of the rare sweet comment, Quinn dipped down and stole her lips in a long, languid kiss, feeling Rachel relax and readjust to accommodate her weight. Quinn released her wrists, leaving Rachel free to wrap her arms around her back, which she did without hesitation, and pulled a moan from her throat as she dipped her tongue into Rachel's mouth. She pulled away slowly, fiddling with the ends of Rachel's silky hair in her fingers as she looked down into heavenly almond eyes. They both sighed, a sound of contentment they just couldn't seem to help but make around each other, and all Quinn could think was that she only wished they had discovered that sooner.

Her eyes flickered reluctantly to the alarm clock on Rachel's nightstand and she growled low in her throat, pressing another, briefer kiss to those addictive lips before she pulled back the sheet and clambered off of her.

"I've got to go."

"And…she's off," Rachel sighed, and Quinn lifted her over-sized hoodie over her head (she usually just forewent a bra, seeing as it was just going to get taken off anyway) before frowning at the somber diva, who had sat up, knees under her chin, looking as adorably sad as those puppies in adoption commercials.

"Hey," she called softly, and her brown eyes instantly met hazel. "You know I want to stay."

She nodded, albeit glumly, and Quinn heaved a sigh, dropping her jeans for the time being and marching straight back over to plant a deep, demanding kiss on Rachel's plump lips. She stroked her cheek as she pulled away and murmured, "You know I do."

Rachel nodded again, more certainly this time, and nuzzled into Quinn's palm before she queried quietly, "How did this even happen?"

Quinn let loose a chuckle. "I want to say it's because you jumped my bones after realizing you were thinking of the wrong 'inn' when Finn kissed you at Nationals, but…" Rachel glowered at her harshly for the exaggeration, and Quinn smirked. "I don't know. It's completely insane." She laughed, and Rachel echoed her softly. "But I'm glad it did."

Rachel smiled shyly, covering the hand on her cheek with her own and giving a squeeze. "Me, too."

They exchanged another soft, brief kiss before Quinn scurried back to her jeans so she could get back before her mother realized her ex-pregnant teen daughter had gone missing. Rachel sighed, leaning back against her headboard, and bit her lip in thought.

"Hey, Quinn? Do you think maybe you could suddenly decide you want vocal lessons from the most talented diva in glee club tomorrow?"


	10. A Letter to One Miss Quinn Fabray

**Sum: **Post S2. To Quinn, from Rachel. Angst.

**A Letter to One Miss Quinn Fabray**

Dear Quinn,

Why is yours the only name that wants to fall from my lips?

I know you're already probably a mixture of annoyed by my dramatics and confused by my question, perhaps to the point where you're about to fold this back up and send it to the depths of your garbage can. If I ever gather the guts to send this to you, of course. I rather doubt I will, which may surprise you, but you're the only person who ever makes me nervous. It's rather bothersome, actually, though I'm sure it'll please you well enough.

Anyway, I'm not being dramatic. I'm genuinely curious.

Why is it that when I'm sitting next to the boy of my dreams, the recently renewed love of my life, over a meal of sickeningly greasy roller rink pizza, all I want to do is ask him how you're taking the breakup?

Why, when I'm sleeping over at a friend's house for only the third time in my entire life, do I want to ask them if they watched the movie we're about to sob over together with you, when you lived under Mercedes' roof?

Why is it that when I see Santana and Brittany on those rare occasions when we're both frequenting the local mall, all I want to do is ask where you are?

Let me be clear: it's not as though I stalk you. It just seems that I can't stop talking about you. Or, really, thinking about you. I wonder about your preferences, think about how beautiful you would look in this or that. How beautiful you are all on your own.

Do you know how long it took me to design the perfect wrist corsage for you to wear at your precious prom? I don't even know why I thought about it, but I did. I decided long before Finn came to me that it was the best, which of course you deserved. I was so happy I was able to give it to you, even indirectly.

I don't know why, about any of it.

Perhaps I just can't get enough of your beautiful name.

Or perhaps I just can't get enough of you.

Sincerely,

Rachel Berry


	11. Cherish

**Sum: **Rachel soaks in an intimate moment. Romance.

**Cherish**

It's the first time she can remember ever being this close to Quinn. Not just physically, because duh, this really is the first time for that. It's the first time they've ever hugged, ever had their bodies pressed flush against each other, fitting unexpectedly well together. Perfectly, even, with Rachel's brown head tucked neatly in the crook of Quinn's neck, and Quinn's strong arms looping snugly around her slim waist, her own scooped around her back, lightly rubbing defined shoulder blades up and down, Quinn's nose nestled happily in her bountiful hair, their curves bowing in and out, as though they were supposed to be connected this way all along. As though they had been made this way, only to be carved apart by a seamless knife, only now finding each other again.

But it's not just physical. Rachel is sure she's never been this close emotionally to Quinn. Maybe to anyone. The raw honesty of the conversation they shared has made her feel connected to Quinn, beyond feeling her heart beat against her, in sync with her own. It feels as though, through this lengthy exchange that began as most interactions between them did—with an argument—and ended the way most also did—with a revelation, only there were so many this time, so many weighing them down that they had to do this, had to physically show how close they felt to this one person who understood them, though Rachel felt as though she'd have to crawl under Quinn's skin to truly convey it—somehow a knot has been tied around her soul and tethered to Quinn's.

She's not sure that it wasn't always there, but she feels it now, not like before. Before maybe it was a string of fabric, a mere thread. Now it's a chain link, but it's not holding her down, only alerting her to the person and the soul she can't escape and doesn't want to. Not anymore.

Rachel's certain that usually she would feel at least a modicum of fear in this change in her feelings for Quinn. But this…this embrace is safe. Right here, right now, inhaling the delicate scent of Quinn's vanilla perfume, watching her golden locks flutter with her every exhale and feeling them tickle and tease her nose with their silky touch, feeling Quinn's arms grip her solidly, with no hint that she wishes or intends to let go any time soon, hearing her steady breaths by her ear before she feels them warm her scalp, feeling Quinn's nose burrow into her hair every few moments, her torso filling up as she takes in a deep lungful of Rachel's scent—Rachel feels entirely safe. She's certain an explosion could go off nearby and she would feel startled momentarily before it would wash away to peace at the knowledge that she's in Quinn's arms—and she won't let anything happen to her.

Still, she knows it can't last, and that's why she nuzzles closer and her eyes almost flutter closed at the warm happiness she feels, but she forces them open, to take in those golden locks. Because she's memorizing right now. She's cherishing.

And then Quinn's breathing changes, and Rachel's sure it's over. She'll be pushed away and left cold and empty, and who knows if Quinn will emotionally distance herself yet again, after being left so vulnerable, open, naked? But that's not what happens. Instead Quinn's arms tighten, as if in fear, and her breaths are ragged and constricted, and Rachel rubs her hand up and down her back in a soothing motion that doesn't seem to help, but she can't stop herself once she's started exploring more of the expanse of that muscled back.

The hot breaths shift to her ear as Quinn carefully pulls the lobe free of the obstacle of hair, and a shudder travels directly down Rachel's spine as Quinn utters the last revelation of the long evening, "You make my heart beat like crazy."


	12. Want and Choice

**Sum: **S2E18. Quinn explains her motives. Friendship.

**Want and Choice**

"There's something I don't get."

Quinn glanced up from her algebra notes, allowing her gaze to flicker over her boyfriend only briefly before her attention strayed back down. It was all she needed to figure out what he was feeling, as it was usually written plain as day on his face. Confusion. How…unusual.

"Hmm?" she hummed disinterestedly, and she heard him shift across from her.

"Well, I know you're still sorta sensitive about this and stuff, but…you know, after everything you went through…." Her eyebrow arched as her eyes latched back onto him, effectively silencing him with its harshness. He squirmed, cheeks flushing before he managed to blurt, "Why did you want Rachel to get a nose job? I mean, I know you like yours, but you get that you're totally pretty without it, too, now, right? And—"

"I never said I wanted her to get a nose job," Quinn said evenly.

Finn paused, mouth forming an 'o' as his head tilted in thought. "But…you like went with her to—"

"She wanted me to."

She attempted to return her attention to her homework, finished with the discussion, but the silence across from her, punctuated only by the sound of nails scraping short, wiry hairs, led her gaze abruptly back up. She dropped her pencil and huffed.

"Look, I don't think Rachel needs a nose job. She's fine the way she is, she doesn't need to change a thing, but it's not my decision. It's her body, her face, her choice. If she's not happy with the way she looks and she wants to change it, it is not my place to tell her no. And if that change will really make her happy in the end, then she should do what she wants. Even if we don't agree with it, if it makes her happy, then…isn't that what we should be pushing her to do? Be happy? That's what I wanted."

Quinn shook her head with a sigh as she finished, plucking up her pencil as she—yet again—returned her concentration to where it belonged, failing to notice both Finn's surprised yet contemplative expression and the brunette girl peeking through the stacks beyond him, eyes wide and glistening.


	13. Moving Day

**Sum: **Future. Packing up the past brings up an unexpected, slightly odd memory for Rachel. Angst.

**Moving Day**

Rachel wasn't sure what they'd all been thinking when they decided to do this. Moving Quinn out of her New Haven apartment, that is. It was a tiny little place and trying to jam herself, Kurt, Blaine, Mercedes, Sam, Santana, Brittany, and - of course - Quinn herself into it was...difficult. There had been more than a few traffic jams by the front door while they all carried boxes out to the moving van, and more than a few cleanups after boxes burst apart upon unfortunate collisions. Honestly, it was going slower with this many people trying to work around each other than it would have been with just a few of them moving Quinn out.

Quinn and Rachel had both tried their turn at attempting to get everyone organized. Rachel even had a chart. And a diagram. No one was eager to listen to either of their suggestions, so eventually they gave it up and let the mayhem take over. Fortunately, since it _was_ such a tiny space, Quinn didn't have much to move. Most of it was either in storage or back in Lima, and Quinn intended on moving those things into her big new penthouse in New York when and if she saw fit - alone. Mainly because all of their friends were horrible at moving.

Kurt refused to pick up anything heavier than 20 pounds; Blaine just followed Kurt everywhere and therefore spent most of his time in everyone's way. Mercedes got stuck multiple times looking through Quinn's makeup, CDs, magazines, clothes, and so on. Santana spent most of her time scowling or slapping heads in frustration over the disorganization and generally spreading her bad mood. Brittany seemed to forget that they were moving Quinn out and not _in_, so a few boxes ended up being removed from the apartment more than once. Sam was really the only helpful one, but since everyone else was doing such a poor job, it didn't make much of a difference, as far as Rachel could tell.

At the very least, Quinn had almost everything packed already by the time they arrived that morning, and what she didn't have packed was organized and ready either in or next to the pre-labeled boxes they were supposed to go in. Unfortunately, there weren't enough scissors or tape to go around and, of course, no one would just pick a job and all ended up doing their own thing.

"I'm going to be lucky if I don't end up getting out a frying pan the first time I try to take a bath," Quinn commented to Rachel after Santana took to singing Trouty Mouth at Sam at the top of her lungs, presumably for getting in her way.

Rachel smiled. "Is there anything else _I_ can take care of for you? I promise I won't put your makeup in your book boxes."

"Actually, my nightstand drawer needs cleaned out and boxed up, could you take care of that? Get you away from the screaming for a bit." Quinn grinned briefly, stuffing a stack of towels into a box.

"Absolutely." Rachel patted her on the shoulder and popped up from the carpet next to her, prancing off to the now mostly empty bedroom. At least everyone had coordinated enough to get the big furniture out of the place, or else they'd have been screwed. Of course, there had been coffee and donuts at that juncture, courtesy of Quinn, which always encouraged harmony. Now things were going to be on toward dinner time by the time they got back to NYC and put all the boxes and furniture in Quinn's new place, and the closer they got, the crankier everyone was.

Rachel shook her head to herself, picking up an empty box that Quinn had labeled in her neat script 'trinkets.' She smiled a tad, kneeling next to the nightstand and tugging the drawer entirely out to set in hand sanitizers and notebooks, a couple of glasses cases, which Rachel admittedly took a look at out of curiosity - she had never seen Quinn _in_ her glasses before - a worn copy of If on a winter's night a traveller, a few pens and pencils, and - a velvet box?

An oddly familiar velvet box, at that. Rachel picked it up carefully, turning it from side to side. It wouldn't hurt to take a peek; after all, it was just jewelry. So she popped it open and stared at the gold diamond engagement band with a floral design on either side of a sapphire, which served as the center stone, tiny spiraling beads traveling around the circle. Seeing it was like a punch to the gut. Or rather, seeing it again, after about five years.

#

Rachel couldn't sleep. It was too quiet in the Berry house tonight. Her fathers weren't snoring so loudly she could hear it through the walls. Her iPod had grown annoying in its shuffle selections, so she'd turned it off a while ago. It was still too cold to have her fan on, creating white noise for her to relax to. She hated the quiet.

So she tossed aside the covers and padded downstairs, trying to mimic the silence until she got to the kitchen, where she flipped on the lights and put on some water for tea and groaned at the clock. It hadn't even been two hours since she'd gone to bed, and she didn't even feel tired anymore. Only agitated.

She adjusted the heat on the stove and picked up her daddy's discarded newspaper to peruse, resigning herself to a long night - until she heard noises outside.

Rachel's first instinct was to grab her flashlight or a baseball bat or her pepper spray, hearing some hoodlums cackling outside - only it wasn't hoodlums or even cackling, she realized, but girls calling after someone. That was too curious not to check out, and soon enough she was off the kitchen stool to peek out the window at the front lawn, hoping the people making noises would be illuminated enough by the street lights to see.

And thankfully, they were, or else Rachel would have spent the rest of her night wondering if she was hallucinating Santana and Brittany trying to chase a wobbling but determined Quinn down on her way toward Rachel's house. She sped to the foyer instead, disbelieving, and flipped on the porch light. Sure enough, there was Quinn, staggering up toward Rachel's house at eleven o'clock at night.

This was simply too curious. Rachel grabbed her coat and rushed onto the porch, calling, "Quinn? Santana, Brittany? What are you all doing here this time of night?"

Quinn almost screeched to a halt, staring up at her with big eyes, and immediately, Santana and Brittany were grabbing onto her arms and trying to drag her backward.

"Sorry, Berry, she got away from us, but it's all under control now. Nice pjs, by the way," Santana snorted, pulling Quinn's elbow, but it was no use.

"No! Just let me talk to her!" Quinn yanked away, frowning at either of them.

"Q, this is a bad, bad idea," Brittany attempted, and Rachel's brow furrowed.

"Ladies, I appreciate that you're trying to help Quinn, and I'm well aware she's unhappy with my decision to marry Finn, but please. I want to hear what she has to say."

Brittany looked uncertainly at Santana.

"All right, midget, you asked for it. Go ahead, Q."

Quinn brushed off her sleeves and cleared her throat as she stepped forward, looking up at Rachel with big, sparkling hazel eyes. "Don't marry Finn."

Rachel smiled a little at the slur in her words, the slight weave in her stance. "I appreciate your advice and concern, Quinn, you know I do, but I love Finn. This is the right thing to do, trust me."

"No, just-just hear me out." She waved her arms, and Santana held out a hand to keep her from weaving too far backward and onto her butt.

Rachel just nodded, biting on her lip to keep from interrupting.

"I-I know...that you love Finn, but. But you deserve…" Quinn squinted, seeming to think. "You deserve...better. I'm not trying to insult Finn, but you do, you deserve someone who will put..._your_ dreams first and I-I would do that. I know I'm not a first choice, or anything, but I know that you would be an _amazing_ wife and I-I would try to be a good husband - wife - spouse. And I swear I would do everything to make you happy, and I know I can't change the past or how shitty I've been, but I swear, I _swear _I would protect you and love you and - "

"Quinn, I don't understand," Rachel blurted.

She'd tried, she really had, to listen and not interrupt and just let Quinn get out whatever she was thinking, but what she was thinking was evidently very strange. What was she suggesting? What was she _saying_? She would love her? Protect her? Make her happy? She'd be a good _wife_? Was Quinn...proposing?

"Yeah, none of us do, let's go, Q," Santana piped up, grabbing Quinn's elbow again.

"No, no, I'm not done. I...Rachel, I know it's sudden and everything, but you don't...I want you to know that you don't have to do this, you have...another option and I'm probably not the best one, but just please." She was digging in her pocket. "Don't marry Finn. If you're gonna marry someone, marry me?" And then there was a sparkling sapphire ring with flowers on either side, silver beads spiraling around the band. Breathtaking. "Please, I know...I can probably never make you love me, but I know that you trust me, and I trust you, and I think we can...we can build on that. And when you find somebody else, I promise I'll walk away. Just don't marry Finn."

Rachel's voice box was malfunctioning. This was the first time she'd ever been utterly speechless. Her brain was doing jumping jacks trying to figure it all out, because how was this happening? This had to be a hallucination of some kind. A really strange hallucination brought on by food poisoning or something, or maybe it was just a dream. Yes. She was in bed right now, sleeping, she just didn't know it.

"Okay, that's a no, Q, let's go," Santana jumped in again, and this time when she tugged Quinn away, the blonde didn't resist.

Rachel tried to protest, or...something. But all that came out was a croak, and Brittany and Santana pulled Quinn down the sidewalk and out of sight. The next morning, Rachel approached Quinn at her locker, to ask if she was all right after the previous night. Quinn's brow just furrowed at her, and she said, "Why wouldn't I be?"

#

"All done in here? Sam's getting the nightstand next," Quinn announced as she waltzed in.

Rachel stuffed the velvet box in her cardigan pocket and smiled brightly up at Quinn. "Mmhm, all set, just need tape."

Quinn dropped onto her knees next to her with a roll and smiled back. "Great."


	14. Cat Fight

**Sum: **S2. Sunshine joins the glee club and takes a shine to Quinn, which does not please one little brunette. Humor.

**Cat Fight**

Nobody listened to Rachel anymore. Well, to be fair, they never really listened to her in the first place, but she had thought things were improving last year. Maybe that was because after Regionals they didn't have to see her or talk to her again until the next year… It didn't matter the reason; what mattered was, they weren't listening to her anymore.

Sunshine, despite all of Rachel's hard work denying that they needed her and discrediting her voice with a salad hiding hot peppers, had joined glee club. And everyone was sooo happy to have another little midget singer. A polite, quiet, demure one who sat in the back and smiled like the little ray of sunshine her name proclaimed her to be. Who never fought over solos and gladly handed them over, but who usually got all the solos these days anyway because Mr. Schuester hated Rachel and wanted to ruin her life.

How was she supposed to catapult from high school into stardom if he kept giving her stardom away?!

And now they were giving Sunshine, as newest member besides Sam, first choice for picking someone to duet with for this week's little competition. Of course, she'd probably grab some other powerhouse like Mercedes or Santana. Or, knowing Rachel's luck, she'd steal Finn right out from under Rachel and there was no way she was taking _that_ lying down. She'd fought and won over Finn before, she'd do it again! But the name that came from Sunshine's lips was actually the last Rachel considered.

"Quinn."

"_What_?" Rachel was aghast. And so, too, was Quinn, apparently.

"What?" She'd looked up from the book in her lap, eyes wide.

Sunshine just wore that damn smile on her face. "I'd like to sing my first duet with you, Quinn. If that's okay."

Quinn was owl-eyed, and the rest of the glee club looked varying degrees of offended, amused, or disinterested. Rachel personally felt very offended, though not, she suspected, for the same reasons as the rest of them.

"Why?" Quinn said. Her eyes were narrowed with suspicion.

Sunshine paused at that, blushing that damn little blush and shrugging. "You're the only person who hasn't yelled at me or tried to kill me for a solo."

Rachel grumbled and squirmed in her chair, ignoring Finn's pat on her shoulder.

Quinn was chuckling. "Sweetie - " Rachel gawped - now she was _very_ offended " - you're confusing not giving a rat's rear end for kindness. Besides, I don't do duets, and I'm the last person you want to pick. I have the weakest voice in the club, next to Mike."

He high-fived her. Rachel narrowed her eyes.

"I think you have a really pretty voice," Sunshine said shyly. Rachel glared at her. This was just not right. This was unacceptable, in fact. "And I think we could complement each other really well. But if you don't want to, I understand." And then she looked at her shoes.

Quinn was frowning. She slapped her book shut. "Fine, I'll - "

"You can't duet with her!" Rachel blurted out, and then immediately froze.

"Rachel," Mr. Schuester said sternly.

"Why not?" Sunshine was confused.

"Yeah, why not?" Finn echoed.

"Because I'm...dueting with her…" Rachel cleared her throat, straightening up. "Yes. Quinn and I are dueting."

"Sunshine has first choice," Mr. Schuester pointed out. "She can pick Quinn if she wants."

Sunshine hesitated. "I thought you would want to duet with Finn, Rachel. I didn't realize it would upset you if - "

"I'm not upset!" Her arms flailed, so she tucked them tightly under her armpits. "I just...already had a song in mind for me and Quinn."

Mr. Schuester huffed, folding his arms. "What song then?"

Rachel opened and closed her mouth. "You Belong With Me?"

"But Rachel, I thought - " Rachel elbowed Finn in the stomach. He grunted quietly.

"Yes, You Belong With Me, by the incomparable Taylor Swift. Quinn and I would - "

"Uh, no," Quinn said suddenly. "I am not singing a song with you so you can gush over your Romeo and how the big, bad cheer captain brings him down. Forget that. I'm singing with Sunshine."

"It doesn't have to be that song!" Rachel thought quickly. "It could be Love Story. Or it doesn't even have to be Taylor Swift, it can be whatever you prefer."

"Uh huh. Did you have a song in mind, Sunshine?" She turned her gaze over.

"Oh." Sunshine squirmed a bit. "Maybe…"

"See, she doesn't even have a song," Rachel said pointedly.

"Maybe Lady Gaga!" Sunshine burst out, face hardening for once.

"Ha! We've already done all her good songs!"

Sunshine frowned. "Then Katy Perry."

"Don't even think about I Kissed a Girl," Rachel growled.

"Why, do you plan on giving her a striptease while you sing it with her?!" Sunshine blushed immediately, ashamed of her outburst.

Rachel stood hastily. "I'll have you know I don't plan on doing any nudity of any kind in my career, and if I were to do a striptease for Quinn, it would be much better than yours, you-you stick! At least I _have_ breasts!"

"I have breasts!" Sunshine folded her arms again.

"Not bountiful enough for a high standard woman like Quinn! Also, you're too short for her!"

"You're only like three inches taller than me!"

"Three inches makes all the difference between needing a forklift to her lap and grinding on it!"

"This is actually kind of hot," Quinn said, seeming rather surprised by this, if her tone was any indication.

Rachel glared down at Sunshine, who was now blushing furiously.

"Well, your boyfriend is too tall for you in that case," she said half-heartedly.

Rachel opened her mouth, but ultimately had to close it again. "Okay, fair enough. But Quinn and I have a perfect height ratio; therefore, it's my duet."

Sunshine tried a tougher stance. "You have a boyfriend to sing with, so it's mine."

"Well, you're new, and I have never gotten to duet with Quinn, so it's _mine_."

"You had a whole year to duet with her and didn't do it, so it's mine."

"You don't even have a good song idea!"

"I assumed Quinn and I would talk it out together," Sunshine pouted.

"Well, that's your number one mistake right there, because Quinn doesn't care; if you want to sing with her, you should have a solid idea ready or else she's just going to say 'whatever' to every idea you suggest. See? You don't know her well enough." Rachel nodded determinedly.

"And this would be a good way to _get_ to know her."

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because she's mine! Okay? You stole my spotlight, you stole my friends, you'll probably steal my boyfriend cause you're so miniature and cute, you do not get my frenemy-ship with Quinn, okay? I have worked too hard and too long to crack her open like a very hard egg, like a pickle jar! And you do not get to just jump in here with your hot water and pop the top off!"

Sunshine just furrowed her brow. "What?"

Rachel huffed, folding her arms, but before she could go on, Mr. Schuester clapped his hands together.

"Okay, I think that's enough of that. Um...Quinn, I guess you get first choice. Who do you want to sing with, Sunshine or Rachel?"

Rachel whirled eagerly to catch Quinn's dazed expression as she perked up and cleared her throat.

"Um…"

"I promise I'm not as insane as her," Sunshine offered, and Rachel scowled.

"Hey! Well, I promise I'm as insane as I am _and_ I will give you whatever you want." She nodded.

Quinn's eyebrow lifted. "Whatever I want?"

"Whatever you want."

"Ewww," Santana blurted out suddenly, and Rachel's brow knit.

Quinn spoke before she could think about that much longer. "Okay, Rachel. I'll sing with Rachel."

Rachel did a fist pump and spun on Sunshine, taunting, "Too bad, so sad," before she pranced up to sit by Quinn, straightening up her shoulders and tossing her hair.

They could take her stardom, they could take her spotlight, but they were not taking her Quinn.


	15. Mine

**Sum:** S3. Finn and Rachel married; Quinn had no accident. Rachel overhears a peculiar conversation in the nurse's office. Humor/Angst.

**Mine**

Rachel hated going to the hospital. Loathed it. So going to the school nurse's office wasn't exactly something she looked forward to, either. However, she was also meticulous about her health, and even the slightest tickle in the back of her throat was cause for alarm. Her new husband, Finn - she almost squealed at the thought - was convinced she was being ridiculous, worrying for no reason, but if she was going to audition for NYADA in the fall again - and she was - she had to take excellent care of herself.

As soon as she arrived, the nurse pointed to a padded seat with the same pinched expression as she always greeted Rachel with and left the office, mumbling something about Principal Figgins. Rachel didn't quite catch it, but she perched up on the edge of the seat and swung her legs with a hum. Until she heard soft voices from the cot room and peered around the curtain, catching a glimpse of pale hands with black nail polish caressing a golden tanned leg.

"I should've known better than to trust Santana," a familiar voice chuckled out painfully, hissing.

One of the hands disappeared and returned with a cotton swab. "Just hold still."

Rachel's eyebrows popped up in surprise. Quinn? She sounded so…so gentle.

"All right, it's okay."

The leg tensed a couple times and Quinn's nimble fingers disappeared once more, returning with a pad of white paper.

"Put your finger right there, it's okay."

Another tanner hand appeared to hold the pad in place, and then Quinn's hands retracted and appeared one more time with gauze this time and started wrapping, looping it around the tan leg lovingly. Caressing the skin with her thumbs now and then. Rachel swallowed. Quinn was so tender.

What was she doing, wrapping up a girl's leg with such softness, such kindness? Not that Rachel didn't think Quinn was kind and soft. Well, she could be when she wanted to be, Rachel knew that, but she had never seen her quite _this_ kind and _this_ soft. Her voice had even dropped an octave and it was so loving, so sweet.

Rachel's brow furrowed as her stomach twisted. Another symptom, oh, God.

"It's only a flesh wound," Quinn was saying soothingly.

"Is that actual medical terminology or are you just stealing from Monty Python now?" the other voice giggled painfully.

There was a smile in Quinn's voice when she explained, "Just means the bleacher seat only grazed your leg, so even though there was a lot of blood, you're going to be fine and you'll still be able to participate at Nationals."

"Lucky me."

Quinn taped down the gauze on her leg, and then her fingers just traced hypnotizing circles on the girl's leg.

"Okay, stop, you're getting me all tingly," the girl giggled, and her leg wiggled a bit.

"I like it when you're tingly," Quinn teased back. Her palm flattened and smoothed up that thigh, and Rachel felt something tighten in her throat. Even more when Quinn purred, "So bashful."

Who knew there was this side to Quinn? A side beneath the stern Quinn and the quiet Quinn and even the friendly Quinn. All those components were attractive, sure, and Rachel liked and cared about all of them, no matter how cruel Quinn got to be, but this was something Rachel had never seen. Well. Maybe that wasn't quite true. A few times, when she and Quinn spoke, especially before the wedding and the engagement, there was something in Quinn's eyes and her voice. A tenderness.

Like the tenderness she was using to touch and speak to this other girl.

"We're gonna get caught," she said suddenly, hushing her voice.

Rachel glanced over abruptly again and found Quinn leaning forward now, a bright smile on her face. The smile she'd given to Rachel a couple of times before, a special smile. A just for her smile. One she hadn't seen since the wedding. Now Quinn's smiles were reserved and distant again. Rachel frowned.

"So what? I'll shout it to the whole world if it means I get to kiss you."

Quinn was leaning further, her smiling face disappearing beyond Rachel's view. On reflex, she reached out and knocked the pile of magazines stacked next to her on the floor. Quinn stood up sharply, and Rachel bent over to quickly pick them up, smiling to herself. She had to bite her lip to keep it from evolving into a grin when Quinn rushed over to help her.

"Rachel? What are you doing here?"

"Oh, hello, Quinn! I'm just getting a tingle in my throat checked out, that's all." She sniffled for emphasis.

Quinn set the stack of magazines neatly back up onto the table and Rachel felt her staring, so she worked up a few tears to water her eyes up and sniffled again, wiping her nose. Quinn started to reach up to touch her forehead, but stopped short, biting her lip.

"Do you feel like you have a fever?" she asked instead, and Rachel shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm a little warm."

Quinn rubbed her hands together after a moment and Rachel smiled encouragingly at her, leaning into the touch when Quinn finally pressed her palm over her forehead, lips pursed in concentration. And she could help but smile slyly over at the cheerleader leaning forward to catch a glimpse of them, the way she herself had been doing just a moment ago.

Something like guilt tried to tug at her, for so many reasons, but all Rachel could think was, _Mine_.


	16. Missed Opportunities

**Sum:** Future. No Brittana S6 marriage. Rachel and Quinn reflect.

**Missed Opportunities**

"I can't believe they're finally getting married."

Rachel couldn't help but giggle as she tightened up Quinn's tie beneath the collar of her white dress shirt. She looked ravishing as always, in Rachel's personal opinion, though Quinn had mentioned numerous times that just because it was a lesbian wedding, it didn't mean anyone had to wear tuxes. Santana had compromised by making it a tie, vest, and skirt affair, instead of full suits.

"After all the break-ups and make ups, I was starting to think it would never happen," Rachel went on, smoothing the fabric down Quinn's chest.

Quinn merely grunted her agreement before straightening up the tie a bit more. "What is this, make up number four or five?"

Rachel giggled. "Five. I think. If you count Brittany dating Artie in high school."

"Which I do. They may have still been sleeping together, but it counts."

Quinn offered her a brief smirk before she stepped away to snatch the vest off the back of a padded chair, swinging it on with a sigh.

"Well. I guess we can't really talk. We've had just about as many attempts," Rachel commented, watching Quinn's nimble fingers slipping buttons through.

"What, you mean with Finn et al?" Quinn smoothed out the wrinkles, tugging at the hem of the vest.

She chuckled, tossing her hair. "Well, that, too."

"I don't think it quite counts if you've never actually been together," Quinn said evenly, then turned to her. "What do you think?"

Rachel smiled. "Dashing."

Quinn sniffed and combed her fingers through her hair. "I'm making Santana wear a neon green dress at my wedding."

"I thought you'd given up on the whole idea of marriage."

"Not entirely." Quinn swooped up the champagne glasses they'd stolen from the reception room to brace themselves for the event and poured herself a glass. "Getting there, though."

Rachel leaned her rump against the vanity table, rubbing her arm up and down. "Do you think we would've ever…?"

She raised her eyebrows for a moment. And shrugged. "It's hard to say."

"Right. Because we've never actually been together." Rachel dropped her head briefly before lifting a pointed finger. "We've come close, though."

Quinn cracked a smile then. "Fair enough. Back when I went off to Italy to work study, at least."

"And I broke down sobbing and kissed you at the airport." Rachel blushed, accepting the glass Quinn poured for her, but her smile quickly faded. "And then when you came back…"

"You were with Elliott," she finished. Her voice never wavered, but Rachel still grimaced. She opened her mouth, but Quinn continued, "And then when the two of you broke up, I was with Bailey, and when _we_ broke up - "

"I was on tour across the country, and by the time I came back, you had skipped off back to Italy." Rachel managed a smile of sorts, watching Quinn consider.

"So that's at least four almosts right there. I think it's still safe for us to judge them."

Quinn grinned, flashing her brilliant teeth, and Rachel couldn't help but laugh, nearly spilling her champagne in the process. When Quinn dropped into the chair, smiling smugly with triumph at having elicited that reaction, Rachel sobered slightly, swirling her drink and biting on her bottom lip.

"Do you ever…think about…what it would have been like? If I hadn't gotten together with Elliott, we had actually…you know."

Quinn looked at her steadily, lips pursing as she thought. "No."

Rachel swallowed, suddenly feeling rather heavy. "Oh." She set her glass on the table beside her and folded her arms. "Why not?"

"Because we didn't. I don't look back, Rachel. No point." Quinn stood to refill her drink again.

"Right. Let go of the past, so you can start your future," Rachel mumbled, nodding to herself.

"I did think about you a lot, while I was away."

Rachel perked up - and hated herself for the excitement stirring in her gut. "Oh?"

"Yeah, I'd…try not to let myself, but I'd go to some concert or play and I'd think of you."

Quinn sipped at her glass, and Rachel smiled to herself, for just a moment.

"I don't think I ever…really apologized for what happened when you got back." She frowned and straightened, peering closer at Quinn. "I am really sorry, Quinn."

She just looked at her for a moment. "For what? Having a life? We kissed, it's not like we declared our undying love. No one made any promises, I didn't ask you to wait."

"I know, but I saw the look on your face when I introduced you and - "

"I was surprised. You're letting your guilt make it out to be more than it was."

Rachel sighed. "Quinn, I'm trying to tell you that I…really regret not waiting. That I…I was just scared. That you didn't feel the same way. About me. I was afraid you never even wanted that kiss."

Quinn stared at her steadily before slowly nodding her head. "Well, I did."

Rachel bit her lip, shifting herself closer. She sidestepped along the vanity table, until her shoulder brushed Quinn's. Hazel eyes just stared her down, and she hesitated a moment or two more before she lifted her hand to cover Quinn's chest, gradually curling her fingers in around the tie to pull her down. Quinn didn't resist, but before their lips could close the gap, she spoke again, quietly.

"I have to go back to Italy after the wedding."

Rachel chewed on her bottom lip, nodding. She unleashed the tie from her grasp and folded her arms across her chest again. "Right."

Quinn's gaze traveled to the champagne and she took another long drink as the silence settled between them. Rachel closed her eyes. Another opportunity wasted - by timing.


	17. Autobiography

**Sum:** Future. Rachel has a little history pointed out to her. Humor.

**Autobiography**

Rachel wrung her sleeves around her fingers as she peered across the desk at the man in front of her. He had given her exactly zero indication of how this meeting was going to go. Even his message on her voicemail to set up the appointment was lacking in tone; all he'd said was, "I've finished going over the manuscript, call me and we'll set up a time to talk."

A manuscript. Honestly, Rachel had thought about this a million times - being famous enough to write her own autobiography, famous enough that it would actually sell. She even had possible book titles written down and several chapter titles mapped out. But she never thought the book would actually happen. Everything else, the Tony Award, the movie, the Broadway shows, the red carpet walks - that was all possible and it had all happened.

But Rachel wasn't a writer, so the book part, while appealing, had seemed kind of like a little bonus dream. Something that might happen sometime, if she ever got around to it, maybe when she'd retired to doing special concerts and appearances and had time on her hands, but it didn't seem at all likely. Then her agent had struck up a book deal with one of the biggest publishing houses in New York.

She had spent about six months writing the thing, and now Mr. Edward Burke would tell her whether it was any good, or if she should hire a staff of writers to do it for her. Or, if it was bad enough, if they should just forget about the book deal altogether.

Burke pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose, fingered the heavy manuscript, and said, "It's good."

Rachel gaped. "Really?"

"Absolutely. It's dramatic, funny, heartbreaking - everything readers love. I've made notes and suggestions on what needs to be changed or reworked. There are a few awkward chunks about your glee club that, ah, we don't really need, especially the parts about members quitting, coming back. It's easy enough to sum up that you were all teenagers and hormones were running rampant." He smiled, crinkling the corners of his mouth. "But overall, I like it and I think it's going to make us both a lot of money."

Rachel could hardly believe her ears. Despite the criticisms - something she had grown used to hearing over the years, particularly from snooty directors - Burke liked her book. He was a suit and tie with a stern face and his smile didn't look natural even when it was genuine, but he'd liked it. She was really going to publish a book.

"There's one major issue I'd like to discuss before I send you off with it to look over my edits, however."

She twisted her lip under her teeth. "Oh?"

"It feels…kind of unfinished."

Oh. Rachel paused. "It's…everything going on in my life up to six months ago…"

"That's not what I mean. It's great on covering you, but - what about your friends? Your glee friends, they were all so ambitious in their own ways, where did they end up? What happened to them? Especially Quinn."

Rachel opened her mouth, and then promptly closed it. Especially Quinn? Why especially? Not that Quinn wasn't important to her, or had been at one time, anyway, but all of her friends had been of importance to her, had made a great impact on her life. Why would anyone care to know specifically about Quinn?

"What about her do you think people would want to know?" she said slowly, grimacing at her own phrasing.

"Well, the last time you mention her is to say she and Noah got back together, but that's…what? Four years ago now?" He paused, measuring her, and cleared his throat. "Are they still together? What did she wind up doing with her life after all that turmoil? Did she ever confront her sexuality? Did the two of you - "

"I'm sorry." Rachel's brow knit tightly, holding up an apologetic hand. "What do you mean, confront her sexuality?"

"Well, obviously she's gay." Burke drummed his fingers on the manuscript, frowning.

She couldn't help a small laugh. "Quinn's…not gay, she slept with Santana, yes, but - "

"And she was in love with you."

"What?" Rachel laughed again, louder this time. "Where are you getting that from? I didn't say anywhere in there - "

"Well, she made you prom queen, right? She didn't want you to be with Finn, she kept pushing you toward the career you love instead. I mean, in Part 4, with the marriage debacle, you said she only agreed to go to your wedding once she knew that Finn was making you happy? I hate to tell you this, Ms. Berry, but it's all over the page, whenever you write about her. Readers are going to pick up on it, too, and they'll want to know where it all went. If the two of you ever talked about Finn or your feelings or - "

"My feelings? Now I have feelings?" Rachel blinked rapidly at him.

Burke smiled. "I'm not saying you have feelings now, but back then, you must've had some kind of attraction to her. I mean, when you first introduced her, let me see - " He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and leaned forward over the manuscript, flipping through to the high school section " - here, yes, you describe her as, 'She was the kind of girl you only ever dreamt about, so beautiful she couldn't be real.'"

Rachel squirmed, suddenly feeling rather defensive. "Well, Quinn is very pretty."

"Look, Rachel, all I'm saying is that readers are going to want a conclusion there. It's pretty sudden, the way she just drops out of the book when you were getting so close at one point, and people are going to want to know what happened with her, with your relationship."

"Well, they'll be disappointed. We haven't kept in touch." She shrugged, ignoring the way her voice went sour.

"I'd think about changing that." Burke smiled off her look. "It'll make for a nice ending, wrapping up where your friends ended up, especially someone who's had a huge impact on your life and where you are now. Think about it."

He pushed the manuscript across the desk to her, and Rachel hugged it to her chest. She had a little rereading to do, she decided.


	18. Anger

**Sum:** S3. Finn and Rachel married; Quinn had no accident. Quinn is having trouble letting go after the finality of the Finn and Rachel's wedding. Angst.

**Anger**

The library door swung open and smacked the rubber bumper with a bang, loud enough to bring Santana out of her daze and tug her earbuds out as she watched Quinn approach and set her hands on the table, as though she couldn't hold her own weight anymore. Quinn rolled her neck, breathing out a sigh.

Santana had a feeling she knew the answer, but she brought her feet off the table and asked anyway. "Did you find Rachel?"

"No." Quinn gazed into middle space for a long moment, and Santana thought she might be going catatonic before she said, "You know what, maybe it's better this way."

"Better for who?"

"Everyone."

"Except you."

Quinn shrugged, still staring ahead. "I'm fine."

Santana scowled, standing to face Quinn. "No, you're not. And it creeps me out when you act like this."

Finally, Quinn looked her in the eye, straightening up. "I'm always like this."

"You didn't used to be." That damn eyebrow popped up. "Okay, so you used to shut down, but not this hard. When you were mad, you let it out at somebody, at some point. Usually me."

Quinn shook her head, waving blonde locks back and forth. "I'm not mad."

"Don't lie to me, Fabray," Santana scolded, folding her arms. "You don't want to be mad. There's a difference. You want to be happy for Rachel, but you can't be. She married Finn, she chose him. She wouldn't listen to you and you've lost any chance you even thought for a second you might've had with her. She's going to be stuck here forever with the giant, and you feel like punching a wall when you think about it. But you need to let that go."

Quinn sighed. "I'm trying to let it go."

"Then you need to express it, Quinn. You can't hold it in and pretend that's working. Or what's gonna happen the next time she doesn't listen to you?"

Santana hated to imply anything of the sort. After all, she knew how Quinn felt about violence toward anyone but herself, but it was just what Quinn needed to snap out of it, to get in Santana's face and roar.

"I'm not mad at Rachel because she didn't listen to me, I'm mad because she married Finn! Finn is a selfish son of a bitch. He outed you to the whole world, he's taking Rachel away from her dreams, I _hate_ him! I hate him, and the thought of them together - _it disgusts me_!" The books standing on the table went flying to the floor, before Quinn stopped, straightened, gathered herself. "And I'm trying…not to let Rachel see that. I'm trying not to hurt her."

Santana softened. "You don't think it hurts her to see you shut down?"

"Well, it's better than this, screaming, throwing things around. And we were never…together, not even close, so do I have the right to be angry?"

Quinn looked at her expectantly, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. Santana shook her head.

"You are, though, look at you. You've got to let it out and get over it."

"I _can't_. Okay?" Quinn pursed her lips and leaned her hands back on the table. "I love her."

"I know." Santana hesitated and carefully rubbed Quinn's upper back. "But you've gotta get over that, too."

Quinn's head dropped, and Santana gently patted her blonde hair. "I know."


	19. Happy Anniversary, Quinn

**Sum:** S4. Quinn celebrates a special anniversary with the person who pushed her the hardest. Friendship.

**Happy Anniversary, Quinn**

Quinn's knees were bouncing. It was driving Santana up the wall, and it took every ounce of willpower she had left not to clamp a fist down on one of them and hold it to the floor. Too bad she didn't know where the toolkit was in the Fabray house. She'd have been nailing those shoes down.

Suddenly Quinn was drawing in a quick, sharp breath, and Santana nearly groaned. This was the fifth time Quinn had changed her mind about what she wanted to do today.

"This movie is boring. Let's go for a walk, it's gorgeous out!" She was beaming.

Santana scowled. "I thought you wanted to stay in and relax for once."

"There's nothing to do."

"We're watching a movie. Your favorite movie!"

"It's boring. I want to do something…active."

She groaned and folded her arms, slumping further into the plush couch to show her protest to this idea. "God, you're like a five year old on speed today."

Quinn's expression came close to crumpling, wavering on the edge before she picked it back up. "Then you pick what we should do."

"Okay." She smiled, big, fat and fake. "Let's finish the damn movie."

A sigh blew from pink lips, but Quinn sagged back into the couch. "Okay."

The knees bounced again.

Santana growled.

"Okay, seriously, what is with you today? I know you're all happy at Yale and shit and you have this new—incredibly inappropriate, by the way—boyfriend who brings you flowers and chocolate or whatever, but you haven't been this like, spazzy, hysterically enthusiastic since like…before I even met you. So what's the deal?"

She glared, for extra emphasis, in hopes that Quinn would just spill. Frankly, she just looked confused. But her smile didn't waver.

"S, don't you know what today is?"

"…Duh. November—"

"It's my six month anniversary of not having to see, hear of, or talk about you-know-_her_ and you-know-_him_ together." Quinn's grin grew. "Or you-know-her together with anyone. And I wanted to spend it with you."

Santana could hardly believe it. Her jaw went a little slack and she stared for a moment.

"With me? Why?"

She shrugged once. "Because you're my best friend. And you're the one who keeps pushing me to move on."

Dammit.

Santana sighed and stood. "All right, get your coat, we'll go for a freaking walk. But if my toes freeze off, I'm blaming you."

Quinn would've squealed if that was her thing. Fortunately, it wasn't, and the peppy blonde merely shot up and went for her coat with an even wider smile.

Santana watched her for a moment, wondering if she should mention that the you-know-whos were broken up. And that there was a rumor floating around the (incredibly nosy) glee club grapevine that there was a new you-know-him in you-know-her's life.

She shook her head of it. Nah. It was better to let her have her day.

She patted Quinn on the shoulder after they had their coats on.

"Happy anniversary, Quinn."

Quinn smiled.


	20. Runaway

**Sum:** S3. Quinn persuades Rachel to flee at the last minute. But she has no idea what will happen next. Drama.

**Runaway**

Quinn's eyelids were drooping at least once a minute. She knew this because each time she felt herself drifting, she glanced at the lit up clock to make sure she hadn't fallen asleep at the wheel. It was always only a moment later, fortunately. She'd considered the various ways of keeping herself awake, of course, but rolling down the window to let the cold February air in on her face wasn't an option. Nor was flipping on the radio. Not if she didn't want to wake Rachel.

And she really didn't. It had been a long day - and night - for both of them, but most especially Rachel. It was best if she slept through it while Quinn drove on and on through the night, focusing her eyes sharply on the lit patches of road ahead. She'd already been driving for hours, away from Lima, Ohio. Her GPS tracked their movements away, reassuring her that they were still headed toward New York. Not that that was where they had to end up. After all, when Quinn had been convincing Rachel to get in this car with her, she'd said they could go anywhere.

Her exact words had been, "Don't you see what's in front of you? The whole world is out there, waiting for you."

Rachel had been halfway to giving in at the time, hesitating between meeting Finn in the church and running to her future with Quinn. And when Quinn said that, Rachel chomped on her bottom lip and she knew she was winning, so she'd pressed on.

"We could see it together. Or you could see it alone. But you won't see it if you do this."

Finn had come storming in with all the parents and the boys following, saying something about the time, and for that moment, Quinn lost. Rachel held her bouquet tighter, pursed her lips at Quinn, and said, "I want you to go."

So she had. But as she was about to turn onto the road back home, Rachel had come running out and jumped into the passenger seat and said, "Drive." So she had, and she'd been driving ever since. Rachel hadn't said anything since then. She just sat staring out the window until night fell, and now she was curled up on the seat in her white gown, resting her head against the window - Quinn's cardigan serving as a pillow between her forehead and the glass - fast asleep.

Quinn wasn't sure what would happen once Rachel woke. Maybe she'd be furious at herself, at Quinn, and want to go back. Maybe she'd be sure. Maybe she'd be conflicted. Probably the last. It had been an impulsive decision, running out on Finn like that. Not one Rachel had had time to sit down and process and think out, and Quinn regretted the urgency of her pleas, having to push Rachel so hard and so fast, but she'd had no choice. Rachel was about to make what could wind up being the biggest mistake of her life, and Quinn couldn't just watch.

No offense to Finn, of course. He'd probably make a wonderful husband someday, to some girl, but he was yet becoming a man, for one thing. And he'd never make it out of Lima, for another. He just wasn't made for the world, and the world wasn't made for him. She'd known that when she started dating him, that he would always be in Ohio. He was too attached to the place, to the life he had there. He had no interest in glamor or fame like Rachel. He was simple, and he liked simplicity.

Rachel wasn't so simple. And neither was Quinn. But she still wasn't exactly looking forward to Rachel's struggle when she woke up. Quinn wasn't naive - she knew one conversation that led to one impulsive decision wasn't the end of it. She'd have to keep convincing Rachel she did the right thing. Keep convincing Rachel not to go back, not to give into fear or love for Finn. It would be difficult. Rachel would not only panic at the consequences of her rash decision making, but she would feel guilt like never before for what she'd done in the moment.

Quinn almost wondered if it would've been better to let Rachel make the mistake, to avoid these feelings, and to let her really realize what a mistake it would be. But she couldn't do that. Things were happening too quickly to let her. If Rachel had married him, she might not have gone to NYADA after the summer, to try again, she might've wound up stuck in Lima forever, because of a moment that Quinn didn't speak up. Besides, she couldn't bear the idea of Rachel married. No, she'd done what she had to do. She only hoped Rachel saw it the same way.

They would have to stop at the next gas station. The needle was bobbing between empty and the first notch, so Quinn kept her eyes peeled for a sign. Fortunately, at the end of a small town they passed through, there was a Mobil station. She pulled up to a pump and popped her trunk to get out her emergency winter breakdown blanket, covering Rachel up with it before she went about filling the tank. She stopped into the store to get a few snacks and drinks for the two of them, dropping them in the backseat.

As Quinn was sliding away her credit card and jotting down the mileage, Rachel shifted next to her, and a glance over found bleary brown eyes peering at her. Quinn opened her mouth, to apologize for waking her, to ask if she was okay - but Rachel beat her to it in a sleepy voice.

"Go to a hotel."

Quinn nodded, and Rachel curled up tighter to the door, eyes shutting again. There was a small bed and breakfast back down the road, so Quinn steered back out that way and went in to check out the situation. They had plenty of rooms available, as it turned out, so she asked for one with two queen beds and went back out to coax Rachel awake.

"We've got a room," she murmured once Rachel blinked her eyes open.

She received a yawn and a nod before Rachel passed Quinn's cardigan back to her and reached to lazily draw on her high heels. Quinn tossed the cardigan in the backseat and came around to the passenger door, waiting anxiously while Rachel pushed the blanket aside, wiggled her toes in her shoes, and then reached up to her like a sleepy child. Uncertain, Quinn leaned down, and Rachel's arms wrapped up around her neck, and she understood, straightening until Rachel was on her feet.

A brief, passing kiss brushed over Quinn's cheek before Rachel wobbled toward the building, and Quinn again had no time to consider before she was slamming the door shut and locking her car, rushing to catch up and steady Rachel on the way up the stairs and on up to their room. Rachel kicked her shoes off the moment they walked in, shuffling her feet on the plush carpeting on her way over to the nearest bed. She plopped there on the mattress and fluffed up her dress, reaching under it to remove her stockings from her legs.

Quinn's cheeks flared with heat. "Do you need anything?"

Rachel started to shake her head as she uncurled a stocking from her toes and rubbed her foot, but seemed to think better of it. "Can I borrow your phone?"

Quinn's brow knit, but she nodded, lifting her purse to dig it out and hand it over. Rachel started scrolling through it immediately, eyebrows raising on occasion before she went over to the landline phone and started dialing, copying from Quinn's phone. Quinn bit her lip in realization and ducked from the room - she really didn't need to hear Rachel's conversation with Finn's voicemail.

Instead she found the vending and ice machines, as well as the community room adjoining the lobby, where she grabbed some coffee and sat back to watch the newscast on the TV. The lights went out in the lobby and the janitor was bringing in the vacuum when Quinn decided enough time had passed for her to go back up, but she was still cautious upon opening the door up. Rachel was just sitting there on the edge of the bed, rubbing her toes and staring into middle space. Quinn pushed the door shut behind her.

Rachel blinked her gaze over and stared at Quinn with red-rimmed eyes. She said nothing. Quinn tossed the key down on the counter, next to the TV, and kicked off her heels on the way over to the other bed.

"I was right, you know. You really do look beautiful in that dress," Rachel said suddenly, much more clearly than she had spoken in the car.

Quinn stopped and smoothed her hands out over the hips of the material. She faltered as Rachel looked back at her.

"Of course, you'd look beautiful in a garbage can." She sniffed, half-smiling, and then turned back to her sore feet.

Rachel didn't say anything else, so Quinn sank to a knee on her bed and then flopped to the pillows, tossing her purse further down the bed.

"So you're not speaking to me now?"

Quinn glanced over, faltering once again when Rachel pinned her with those big brown eyes. "I just don't know what to say…"

Rachel shifted herself around to face her properly. "You had plenty to say earlier."

Her cheeks went red again and she looked up at the ceiling. "That was different."

For a moment, there was no sound in the room, save for the ticking radiator, but then the bed bounced and Quinn pushed herself up, bringing her knees up as Rachel sat before her, eyebrows raised. But she didn't say anything, only reached beyond Quinn for her cell phone again where she'd set it on the nightstand, and Quinn gripped the hem of her dress and pulled it over her knees, biting on her bottom lip. Rachel scrolled about and then handed Quinn the phone. She'd brought up Google Maps. Quinn's eyebrow quirked.

"You pick the first place," Rachel prompted.

Quinn tilted her head, and Rachel puffed out a breath.

"I thought we were seeing the world together…"

Her mouth dropped open. "Oh...I…"

Rachel's lips pursed. "Or you were just saying things to get me not to marry him and I bought it, as usual, because I'm a gullible little schoolgirl who can't tell the difference between Quinn Fabray offering to run away with me and Quinn Fabray doing whatever it takes to get what she wants - "

"Maine." Quinn flicked her gaze back to the map. "Caribou, Maine."

Rachel's shoulders dropped a fraction and her lips threatened to curve. "What's in Caribou, Maine?"

Quinn shrugged. "I don't know. Top corner of the country, of the east coast, anyway. Start there, work our way down until September."

Rachel pulled her veil out, loosening her hair to let it fall in waves about her shoulders. "What's in September?"

"College. Re-auditioning for NYADA."

"We won't have diplomas." Rachel tossed her veil to the other bed and reached back to unzip her dress.

Quinn bit on her bottom lip. "We'll enroll in an online high school…"

Rachel stood, slipping out of the gown and setting it out over the other bed, leaving herself in a silky white slip, and curled a leg beneath her as she sat in front of Quinn again, the tip of a finger brushing her toe. "And in September, our little adventure will be over? You'll go off to Yale two hours away from New York City?"

"I'll go to Columbia," she murmured. "I got in there, too."

Rachel cocked her head, leaning closer to Quinn's knees. "I thought Yale was your dream."

Quinn shrugged. "Columbia's just as good. Still Ivy League."

Her eyebrow lifted admonishingly. "I thought the whole point of this was not to miss out on our dreams."

She had no answer for that. Yale was a dream, of course. Ivy League was important, not just to Quinn's family, but to her. It meant all her hard work had paid off. It meant she was worth something beyond her looks, beyond superficial talents. And beyond being a bad person. It wasn't all that defined her. And Yale was up next to Harvard, rivals with it, it had distinction. Columbia didn't have the same reputation, the same options and programs.

Rachel was fully leaning against Quinn's knees now, setting her chin on the top of them. "Do you want me, Quinn?"

Quinn's stomach tried to make an escape out her throat. Her heart thumped in her ears. "What?"

Rachel's finger traced up Quinn's calf, sending her hair on end. "I could be wrong, and don't hold it against me if I am, but. You've asked me to run away with you, haven't you? And you've been staring at me all night, in the car, when I took off my gown and things...and especially now."

Quinn's cheeks were hotter than ever. She looked away. "If you're trying to start a fight or humiliate me as revenge for making you make this decision, then - "

"Don't be ridiculous, Quinn," she scoffed gently, shaking her head on her knees. "You didn't make me do anything. I chose this. I couldn't go through with that wedding without you. I couldn't." She bit her bottom lip, staring at Quinn with those worshipful eyes before she went on. "And I'm not trying to start anything, I just want to know." When Quinn opened her mouth, she shot in again, raising a palm up. "And don't - tell me that nothing can happen or that I'm confused right now or anything like that. I know I'm confused right now, I know we can't do anything, because I just left Finn at the altar and even though I find you very attractive and I enjoy your company a great deal, it would only complicate things to spend the night together in that way, and I am already enjoying what we have right now; so, that kind of involvement can wait until you and I are both certain my feelings for Finn have ended, but in the meantime, I just want you to tell me if you are drawn to me as I have found myself drawn to you, because as much as I love Finn, there is a piece of my heart that refuses to obey and I think you stole it."

Rachel didn't even look out of breath, but Quinn felt it after that long mix of conflicting emotions. She couldn't do much but stare for a moment after, trying to catch her thoughts up with Rachel's words, while the little brunette waited so patiently against her legs.

"I, um." Quinn cleared her throat. "Yes."

Rachel's lips curved. "Yes what?"

Quinn's cheeks flared and she stared rather pointedly at her phone as she would a book, if she'd had one, practically whispering, "Yes, I...want you."

Rachel was lying against her side in a moment, snuggling up to her, and Quinn hesitated before resting her arm about Rachel's shoulders, sinking slowly back into the mattress with her.

Rachel's voice was teasing when she spoke, though she seemed to wait until Quinn had fully relaxed next to her. "You realize this...running away, leaving someone at the altar - well, it's all something that would only happen in a schoolgirl fantasy of life."

Quinn smiled a little. "Then you can dream about reality tonight."

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?" she murmured contentedly.

"Not everything."

"What don't you know?"

"What's going to happen tomorrow."

"Sure you do. We're going to Caribou, Maine." Rachel snuggled up tighter, and Quinn could feel her smile against her neck.

"And the day after that?" Quinn squeezed her shoulder.

Rachel shrugged. "I don't know that yet. And I like that I don't know. I know it scares you, not knowing what the future holds." She let out a long yawn. "But I like this. I like that I have you to face the unknown with, because I trust you. I like that we have all the possibilities in the world, Quinn. Tomorrow is rife with potential. _We_ are rife with potential."

Quinn smiled and pressed the barest kiss to Rachel's cheek. "Good night, Rachel."

Rachel wriggled closer. "Night, Quinn."


	21. Shiksa

**Sum:** S6. A dinner party ends with Quinn in an unusual position with Rachel. Romance.

**Shiksa**

Quinn was drowning in a world of lavender. It had been a long day with the new glee club recruits. Granted, they were much improved from the last time she had been around to help, but they were still hormonal, spoiled, selfish teenagers. And Quinn had barely been able to stand that when she _was_ one.

Now, she sat on the couch in Rachel's basement with her eyes shut and her head lolled onto said brunette's shoulder, trying to find equilibrium and to will the impending migraine away, mostly to no avail. She'd have to take something when she headed home, because her head was starting to buzz with pain, striking itself through each temple like someone had driven a knife into her skull. She'd have simply gone home immediately after the ordeal that had been the afternoon's work with the boys and girls, but then - Rachel and Brittany and Kurt wanted a _couples_ night, and when the three of them pouted, there was simply no escape.

So it was that Quinn and Puck, Santana and Brittany, Kurt and Blaine, and Sam had all come round to Rachel's house together to wine and dine. Mike and Tina had opted out of the evening for some time alone together instead, and though Quinn had tried to pull that card and Puck had been more than willing to skip out, both Rachel and Brittany pulled their big brown and blue eyes, respectively, and poked out their lower lips at her. And so Quinn came and smiled while Puck squeezed her thigh under the table, Kurt and Blaine spent half the time exchanging make-up kisses, Santana cracked jokes at everyone else's expense, Brittany gushed over her ring, and Sam acted the part of the perfect gentleman for Rachel.

In a word, it was boring. And possibly more painful than working with teenagers all afternoon, but Quinn was a pro at boring, painful dinners. She'd spent more than half her life attending them, after all, so she batted flirtatious lashes at Puck, complimented Kurt and Blaine on their happiness, bantered with Santana, simply marveled at Brittany's ring, and politely thanked the host and hostess after dinner.

Then they'd all gone down for more drinks and conversation and charades, and Quinn fell in love with Rachel's couch that seemed to hug her entire tired body. At some point, Rachel had joined her, and at some point after that, they ended up pressed together, and at another point after that, Quinn wound up half-laying on Rachel, drugged by the soothing scent of lavender and by the gentle fingers that wove separate but parallel paths through her hair. It was enough to make Quinn want to purr, the way Rachel did it, using only the pads of her fingers - no nails scraping over the throbbing muscles in her head - stroking tender circles on her scalp, soothing the ache away in each spot she touched, if only for a moment. A moment of relief was enough.

"Tired?"

Rachel's voice was unusually low, Quinn noted, but at the moment, she was a bit too tired and preoccupied to wonder about it. Instead she nodded her head, nudging against Rachel's chin, and gentle fingers encouraged Quinn closer. She didn't resist the pull, nuzzling further into Rachel's neck and her smell, dragging in quiet breaths of it. More fingers joined the ones already soothing Quinn's head to knead the back of her neck, and Quinn let out something between a groan and 'unf.'

There was a smile in Rachel's voice when she murmured, "My poor shiksa," and stroked her neck and hair at once, cradling her.

Quinn's brow promptly furrowed, despite the tender touch of lips against the top of her head, and she lolled her neck back enough to peer at Rachel through narrowed eyes. "Your what?"

If she wasn't mistaken, Rachel's cheeks were flushed when she answered, "Shiksa. It's Yiddish for...well, actually it doesn't translate to something very flattering, but it's a non-Jewish woman who is, um, very appealing to Jewish men. Or women." Her shoulders shrugged. "Typically she has blonde hair - " Rachel grinned as she ran both hands over Quinn's shortened bob, and Quinn's eyes fluttered shut " - and blue eyes, but. I think hazel is just as appropriate."

Quinn hummed under her breath, rolling back into Rachel's shoulder with a yawn. "So I'm your shiksa."

"Mmhm." Rachel sounded rather pleased. "My shiksa goddess." She kissed the top of Quinn's head again.

"Goddess, mm?"

Rachel's fingers were working their magic again, in her hair, on her neck. "Yes, goddess," she whispered.

Quinn yawned. "Okay."

She was far too tired, she decided, to wonder about Rachel's behavior at the moment. And anyway, being Rachel's shiksa goddess? Quinn could live with that.


	22. Magic

**Sum:** S3E5. After Rachel asks advice of the girls, Quinn tells Rachel what the first time is really like. Hurt/Comfort.

**Magic**

The bell rang sharply, effectively ending the little emergency girls' meeting Rachel had called in the choir room, and Tina was the first out of the room. Her words still lingered on in Rachel's thoughts, the optimist in her wishing to side with such a positive view of what one's first time might be like. She couldn't imagine it would be like Santana had described, and it _definitely_ wouldn't be like poor Brittany's. No, it should be like Tina had said. Wonderful and right, because she loved Finn and he loved her, the way Tina loved Mike and he loved her. Only Quinn's warning had given Rachel pause, but, well, she and Finn would be safe - she was on birth control, and he would wear a condom, and -

Before Rachel's could finish planning out her safety contingencies, a firm hand had wrapped about her elbow and she was being pressed up against the chalkboard by a long body. The door clicked decisively shut behind Brittany and Santana, and Rachel's world was filled by bright hazel eyes.

"Quinn, what are you - "

The warmth of a palm landed over her lips. Quinn was breathing raggedly, unnaturally, but the next question on Rachel's mind couldn't escape against the solid hand holding her there either. She was left with nothing to do but absorb the hot blasts of Quinn's breaths and the fierce gold of her eyes and the delicate brush of their noses and the strength of her body pinning Rachel with such force she felt the jutting of a hip bone against her lower abdomen. It didn't occur to her to struggle, to try to get away.

"You want to know what the first time is like?" Quinn rasped at last, and Rachel felt the tips of her fingers stroking against the side of her neck - tickling with the lightness of the touch, so she shivered, but Quinn didn't stop. "See, first he does all the things you normally do with guys. Kisses your lips, your neck. It feels nice. Maybe it won't be so bad."

Quinn's hand dropped, to Rachel's ribs, squeezing tightly beneath the globe of her breast, and Rachel felt her thumb pushing up the hem of her bra. Her own breathing was beginning to take on an unnatural rhythm now.

"And then he gropes you, and you feel like he's going to pull your breasts off, but you don't say anything, because it's probably how it's supposed to be. And it feels a little better when he puts his mouth on them."

The hazel eyes darted down, but she didn't remove herself from her current position, except to dig her hip bone further against Rachel, and Rachel felt her nether lips tighten.

"And he takes off your clothes, one piece at a time, your shirt and your bra, your skirt and your panties, and you feel cold, and sick, even though he's kissing your skin, like a slab of meat on a table."

Rachel swallowed thickly, bringing her hands, stable at her sides up to this point, to pet the red fabric covering Quinn's shoulders.

"And then, he spreads your legs." Quinn's hand dropped even farther, down to Rachel's thigh, over the grey wool skirt of her dress, and she squeezed. "And he pushes inside you. And it feels like he's sticking a mace in you, but you bite your tongue."

Rachel's fingers curled in the red cardigan and she pulled, pulled Quinn closer to her, so that if her hand hadn't been in the way, their lips would've been almost touching.

"And then he fucks you. And when he's done, you have to push him off because you can't breathe when he lands on you. When you see the blood on your sheets, you almost throw up. And you sit in the shower and cry, until you're sure he's gone."

Quinn was gnawing on her lip now, staring down Rachel's nose rather than into her eyes, but she saw the shining, the pooling of tears. But before she could speak or move, Quinn gathered herself with a breath and glared.

"So don't let Tina feed you some bullshit story about how _magical_ it is."

Rachel kissed her palm. Quinn's eyebrow quirked, her hand twitched. Rachel puckered her lips and kissed again, and this time Quinn dropped her hand, staring quizzically. She even went to remove herself entirely from Rachel's person, to take her other hand away and step back, so that Rachel was no longer being crushed with her heat, but Rachel held on with both hands, criss-crossed over the back of Quinn's neck, and she kissed her lips. Twice, in chaste but firm contacts, and when Quinn cautiously returned the second one, Rachel saw what Finn meant by fireworks.

"Don't let what happened with Noah make you believe magic doesn't exist," Rachel whispered. "Especially when _you are magic_."

And then she kissed Quinn a third time, wriggled away, and strode down the hall for her locker, lips still tingling.


	23. Epiphany

**Sum:** Post-S6. Sort of implied Faberry – mostly Puck realizing the way he's treated Quinn.

**Epiphany**

Wisps of smoke floated from Puck's puckered mouth, up to the dotted sky. There were nights when the blackness lay over the world like a blanket, looking so thick you might reach up and wrap yourself in its velvety embrace. Only the stars reminded you it was too far away to grasp. Tonight was like that, at least to Puck's searching eyes, trailing the toxic clouds he created until they were engulfed by distance and the abyss above. He wondered how large a dent his puffs created in the global warming phenomenon, the tear in the ozone layer, pollution - problems scientists clamored about because of things like cigarettes.

Under normal circumstances, Puck wasn't one to look at the forest. He preferred to live in the thrill of the present, where he could smoke tonight and it would soothe his nerves and he wouldn't think to pick up another cigarette until one day when his nerves were too much again. Then he would dig into Quinn's secret drawer for her stash, the one she thought he didn't know about, take one, and stand out on the balcony for a while until he felt calmed by the rhythmic sucking and blowing. But until that day, it would never occur to him again.

Not tonight. Tonight, Puck was overwhelmed by consequences.

He'd returned on leave, first to his childhood home in Lima and then here, to Quinn, early in the morning. His mother clamored about him, admired how handsome he was in his uniform, welcomed him inside for a breakfast suitable for how he'd eaten as a teenage boy. He told her about his plans to visit Jake at Ohio State and she begged him to stay for temple. He agreed and she refused to let him help with the dishes, only pausing long enough to admire what a good man he'd become, so he wandered the small house until he found his little sister.

Hannah was fifteen now, short and stocky like him and Jake, but her brown locks were grown out long and shining to her hips and, constantly under the pressure of their mother, she had none of their bravado and all of the shyness that had passed them by. She even did well in school, and Puck felt a swell of pride each time he visited and their mom bragged up a blushing Hannah over the most recent string of all A's. He loved her with the fierce protectiveness only an older brother could, and so when he found her crying alone in her room, he was instantly ready to find and destroy.

Hannah seemed all too aware of what he would do, however, and so Puck never got the name of the boy that had left his little sister distraught. He only got the whimpered, frightened whisper of a story. She'd been invited to a party - her first ever. Her shyness had considerably hampered her ability to make new friends, so she leapt at the opportunity, only the girls who had invited her were too busy with their boyfriends to keep her company. She felt awkward at the party, until a boy slumped against the wall next to her, introduced himself, and offered to get her a drink. She didn't plan on drinking, but he'd said, "Just one - for the experience!"

So she'd had one, and one had turned into two, two had turned into three. The boy kept bringing them to her, encouraging her, and the more she drank, the less she was able to resist, not only his reasons for her to drink, but his touches.

Hannah spared him the details, but Puck understood. The boy had had sex with her, taken her virginity, after she was no longer able to say no.

For the first few hours, Puck saw red and nothing else. There was no comprehension, no connection in his mind. Then Quinn texted him. 'What time will you be home?'

Hannah cried in his arms. She told him how sorry she was. She told him how she woke up alone and naked and how she threw up and snuck in her bedroom window and showered because she felt so disgusting she couldn't stand being in her own skin. And all the while Hannah painted the picture of her pain across his mind, Puck saw a pale ghost following her, mimicking her motions - crying, vomiting, walking home limping, scrubbing her skin raw.

Quinn was asleep by the time Puck arrived home. He could have been earlier. He'd even skipped visiting Jake, gone straight to LA after Lima, but there he sat at a bar, for hours. He couldn't bring himself to drink. Or even to munch on the pretzels there, though he hadn't eaten since that enormous breakfast. It was only the smokes that helped him to escape from the vertigo he'd been suffering under since realizing - what he'd done.

But even collecting his thoughts didn't get rid of the way he felt, like he needed to shower a dozen, hundred, thousand times before he would ever be clean again.

Thank God Hannah wasn't pregnant. She had assured him of that, that she'd had her period since that night.

But that was the only thing Puck could find to be grateful for, because even knowing that Quinn was waiting in bed for him right now, even after - what'd he'd done. Why was she there? Why was she waiting for him? If Hannah ever decided to be with_that_ \- he'd kill. There was no doubt in his mind that that boy would be dead. And yet Quinn was with him. And not because of Beth this time, because she was pregnant, or wanted to get pregnant, or wanted to encourage him - because he asked her to give him a reason to stay. And she had.

_Why_?

Puck smashed out the cigarette between his thumb and the balcony railing and turned away from the abyss to slip silent into his bedroom. Their bedroom. He had hardly looked at Quinn before, on his trek to find cigarettes - only to make sure she was still sleeping. But now he looked down on her from the doorway. The breeze blew in against his back and spread goosebumps up his neck.

Quinn was so beautiful. Curled against her pristine white pillow with both arms, sheet draped along the smooth line of her back and around her hips. Her feet burrowed into the sheets again at the end of the bed, but her long legs were exposed and open. He could see the creamy flesh of her inner thighs, just beneath the scrunched hem of her sheer nightgown. Her nightgowns were always soft and silky under his hands, and they left her nipples taut and ready for his mouth. She was always naked underneath.

Puck approached, laying his feet carefully on the carpet with each step, and eased his weight into the mattress, slowly, so that she wouldn't be woken. He lifted a hesitant hand and stroked her hair. Silky like her nightgowns, and longer again, tucking itself around her neck and ears messily. He petted it down. He couldn't remember ever touching her so gently before.

When they touched, it was always with purpose, with determination. Puck shucked off her nightgowns, he sucked on her breasts, he pushed himself inside her, and he rollicked on top of her. Maybe he was too rough with such a creature.

But he had always prided himself on seeing Quinn for who she was. Not some angel that had to be handled delicately, like Finn and Sam and fucking Biff used to. But not some devil, either, like they did after she scorned them. So Puck didn't fuck her like a whore - he didn't think - but he didn't make tender love, either. He should, just the way, if Hannah had to become a woman and not just a sister, he would want someone to make love to her. Respectfully, sweetly.

But he never had. So why was Quinn with him?

Perhaps… Perhaps she believed she deserved no better.

Puck cautiously gathered Quinn up into his arms, hugged her to his chest, where she would be safe now. She lay limp in his arms, so pale in the night she almost looked…unearthly. He kissed her forehead.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured to her eyelashes.

"For what?"

The raspy query hit him in the gut - but Quinn didn't open her eyes, only sighed and leaned her head against his arm. Puck's throat convulsed.

"Who do you dream about, Quinn?"

The golden eyebrows knit. "Mm?"

"Do you dream about me?"

A long sigh escaped her parted lips and she breathed with it, "Her…"

And then Quinn was fast asleep again, and Puck curled himself into the sheets with her to lay awake wondering, and silently promising - he would make better happen for Hannah, and for Quinn.


	24. Kindness

**Sum:** Pre-Season 1. How Rachel discovered the softer side to Quinn.

**Kindness**

Rachel had entirely forgotten about today, and it was only upon walking into school early Friday morning and spotting dozens of students who were remarkably shorter than her that she remembered. It was First Graders Round-Up, a clever little invention by the elementary teachers to buy themselves a day off, in Rachel's estimation. In theory, having a big high school buddy to lead them around the school they would one day be attending was supposed to increase school spirit, bonding, and encourage high school students to volunteer as tutors for the younger grades. As the most involved student in William McKinely's history, Rachel had been eager to sign up, until her fathers oh-so gently reminded her that she was more of a 'cool aunt' than a maternal figure.

Of course, what they were trying to convey was that she was horrible with children. Something she knew perfectly well, but had momentarily forgotten in her eagerness. The reminder, however, was most welcome, because as soon as she envisioned herself leading around a little first grader, her mind raced to the image of the poor thing bursting into tears in the middle of the hallway and garnering herself a new nickname, like Child Beater, or Big Bad Wolf, or something far more wickedly clever than she had ever been able to stretch her mind toward. It was a true pity, in Rachel's opinion, because she truly liked children - in fact, her cousin Leon was one of her favorite people. But somehow, every time she babysat or tutored or otherwise involved herself with children, she wound up overwhelming him or her, or something, and every attempt to cheer the child back up was only met with more tears. So, Rachel passed on the festivities, for once, and as such, had completely forgotten about today.

It was an unmitigated disaster for everyone else, too, as far as the eye could see. Most of her classmates were either entirely ignoring the little ones at their side, trading for their own little brother or sister, or dragging the kid around so they practically had to ski along the tile floor. Rachel had to grimace. Even she would have done better than Noah Puckerman - the little girl he was chaperoning was biting her lip to keep from wailing while he tried to placate her with a slushie. And she definitely would have done better than Quinn Fabray.

The head cheerleader was gliding down the hallway with her usual grace, the elegance of which made her look as though she were on a catwalk rather than in a high school hallway. Perhaps it was this that led people to part ways for her, to create a path as if by magic, but what had possessed Quinn Fabray to sign up for a tiny tot on her heels for the day was beyond Rachel. Quinn could hardly stand her own little entourage following her everywhere, as far as Rachel could tell - she twisted and snapped at them often enough. And as for the little girl clutching a Hello Kitty lunch box to her chest and running as fast as her tiny legs would carry her to keep up with the long-legged blonde, she seemed to have bout as much interest in her as she did in Rachel - read: none.

Rachel was flooded with sympathy for the tot, but she had solos to practice for, and besides, approaching Quinn Fabray held a 93% chance of being called Man Hands. She couldn't imagine what would happen if she tried to school her on childcare.

#

Fortunately, throughout the day, and with much intervention on the part of teachers, the school event calmed down a great deal. Most classes were showing movies or playing games to entertain the youngsters, leaving the high schoolers relaxed and free to goof off as well. The next time Rachel spotted Noah Puckerman, his charge was tear-free and happily sucking on a lollipop, and she was happy to discover Santana Lopez had chosen not to participate, as well. And, of course, Quinn Fabray was still content to ignore the worshipful eyes of the little girl next to her - Rachel sympathized.

It was only at lunch that things took a turn for the worse, when Quinn was strutting across the cafeteria to her group of giggling Cheerios, once again leaving her little child miles behind, and Noah Puckerman chose that moment to show his charge what slushies were _really_ for, using Kurt Hummel and his newly coiffed straggler as an example. The slushie flew, Kurt and his kid screeched, and then Quinn's charge slipped on an extra bit of corn syrup and screamed at the top of her lungs. Rachel nearly dropped her own avocado and soy cream cheese sandwich at the sound reverberating off the walls, but it was the next part that truly shocked her.

Quinn Fabray plopped her lunch on the nearest table, wheeled around, scooped up the crumpled crying girl, and had her out of the cafeteria in less than thirty seconds. Rachel had never seen her move so quickly except during cheerleading practice, and it occurred to her just a few moments later that the head cheerleader might not be feeling so friendly toward a child who had just screamed and embarrassed her in front of the entire school. The probability of being called Man Hands seemed meaningless next to the idea of Quinn making that poor girl cry, and Rachel swept her food into the nearest trash bin and snuck off after them.

A flash of red led her in the right direction, and within moments, she was peering into the girls' bathroom - only to be brought up short by the sight of Quinn Fabray on her knees in front of a sniffling little one - _smiling_.

Rachel wasn't sure she had ever seen that before. No, she definitely hadn't. Not a real smile, not on Quinn Fabray. She smiled meanly, she smiled dryly, she smiled falsely, but she did not really smile. Showing all her teeth, letting her cheeks dimple, and her eyes sparkle. And she did not speak softly, gently -

"You're being so brave. Next we'll get that slushie out of your dress, okay? It's so pretty, where did you get it?"

The girl swiped her sleeve across her nose. "M-my mommy gave it to me for my birthday."

"Oh? When's your birthday?"

"April - " She held up her fingers, and Quinn grinned up at her.

"Fifteenth? My birthday's in April, too, you know."

Big blue eyes brightened. "Really? Did you get a-a pink dress, too, for your birthday?"

Quinn shook her head and laid a Band-Aid over the girl's knee. "My mom got me a green one. Is pink your favorite color?"

A little chin bobbed wildly. "Uh-huh! But I like green, too!"

Quinn chuckled.

Rachel couldn't believe her ears, let alone her eyes, and it was only the head cheerleader making to stand that led her to back up and out of the bathroom. She had been coming to this little girl's rescue, expecting to find an angry, harsh Quinn making her cry even harder for embarrassing her so horribly. And instead she had found, smiling, laughing, gentle, caring Quinn tending to the girl's scraped knee and keeping her mind off of it… Now, Quinn Fabray couldn't be as bad as all that, could she?


	25. Mother

**Sum:** Post-Season 6. Quinn donated her egg for Kurt and Blaine's baby, while Rachel acted as surrogate. Now, while Mercedes is in labor with her and Sam's child, Quinn comforts her. Quinncedes friendship.

**Mother**

Labor had to have been one of the most excruciating experiences of Quinn Fabray's life. And she had been t-boned by a truck. From water break to umbilical cord snip, it was utter hell, and it only improved the moment the doctor or nurse brought over that wrinkly, red, bawling miracle. Overwhelming pain numbed in the face of big baby blues squinting up at you. Of course, then she was gone again in minutes for tests, weight and height measurements, a million pokes and prods to ensure her health before she would be returned to you - and your personal rest began.

Sitting beside Mercedes at the moment, however, Quinn refrained from frightening her with any of the details of her experience. Mercedes had been there, after all, she had seen enough to know it wasn't exactly a _pleasant_ time, and reminding her would only serve to make her more miserable. Mercedes certainly didn't need that. She was uncomfortable enough; three weeks past her due date and only four centimeters dilated after what now amounted to about fourteen hours of contractions, she lay sweating and moaning.

Quinn squeezed her fingers when she spied another grimace taking shape on Mercedes' tired face. "You're doing great," she encouraged.

Mercedes puffed. "She's never coming out. And Sam's never coming back."

"Yes, she is, and yes, he is. He just went to get more ice chips."

"It's been twenty minutes!" she keened. "He took off. I don't blame him, I would, too."

Quinn couldn't contain a snuff. "No, you wouldn't. He'll be back. And this will all be worth it, I promise."

Mercedes peered at her through drooping lashes. "Then when are you going to have another kid?"

She laughed. "One time thing."

"Lots of things for you are one time things," she muttered slyly.

"You can't duplicate perfection."

"I'd be careful saying that around Kurt and Blaine. Annabella hung the moon and the stars, as far as they're concerned."

Quinn let her back rest against the vinyl spine of her chair. "Not my kid."

"Legally, no. Genetically, yes."

Mercedes readjusted with a whimper, and Quinn stood to rearrange her pillows.

"I can't think like that."

"Why not?"

Quinn straightened as Mercedes leaned back into the fluffed up mass, reaching instead for a wet cloth to sweep away some of the sweat from her brow.

"Well, a, Kurt's not exactly keen on sharing his things, if you know what I mean…"

Mercedes watched her. "And you're afraid you'll get too attached and do something crazy."

Quinn bobbed her shoulders. "Something like that."

"That's why you've been avoiding Rachel."

Her eyebrow popped up, almost of its own accord. "We live across the country from each other, I'd hardly call that active avoidance."

"She would." Mercedes found her hand, squeezing as her eyes shut. "She asks about you."

When the pain seemed to pass, Quinn prompted, "What do you tell her?"

"Whatever excuse you've told me."

"They're not - "

"Quinn." Mercedes pinned her with that all-knowing gaze, perhaps even more intent due to the physical pain she was suffering. "What's the real deal with Rachel? You were so close before. And don't you tell me it's distance, cause I know you. If you want it, you make it happen, obstacles be damned."

Quinn gnawed on her bottom lip and solidified her grip on Mercedes' comforting hand. "It's… It's just that every time I saw her, pregnant, I would think…'That's my baby. She's carrying my child.' And I thought I could handle that. But it just became too difficult not to be a parent, or her partner."

Mercedes' thumb brushed, hot but soothing nonetheless, over Quinn's. "What about now? She's not pregnant anymore."

"But everything's changed." Quinn breathed out, steady. "It all sounds so strange to say, maybe none of it makes any sense, but. She's not just my friend anymore. She's the mother of my child."

"You love her," she prodded, and if it had been anyone else, Quinn would have yanked away and scoffed, had she even let the conversation progress _this_ far. But Mercedes' gentle, familiar eyes beckoned.

So she nodded. "More than ever, now."

Mercedes patted her hand with a small smile. "It's not weird."

Quinn couldn't help smiling back, but the moment was instantly broken by another contraction - the joys of labor.


	26. Morning After

**Sum:** Future. Fluff.

**Morning After**

Standing in the full blast of the sun after approximately thirty hours indoors was equal parts pleasant and unpleasant. Pleasant because it was an unusually beautiful summer day, even for New York City; the sky was blue as the water off the docks, every sparse cloud was fluffy and glowing white. A gentle breeze kicked up in lazy gusts to cool exposed skin and usher in the salty, prickling scents of the bay. A perfect day, weather-wise, to be sure. Even the city's always-bustling inhabitants seemed infected by its joy, smiling as they passed one another, finding patience stored in their busy lives.

On the unpleasant side of things, Rachel had spent most of their walk down to the deli squinting after little to no exposure to the outdoors for the past thirty hours, and Quinn was required to wear clothes in public, which overwhelmed most of the positive things about the weather. Quinn_ was_, at least, still rather rumpled from their earlier romp; her cropped hair was fluffed and snarled in spots, mainly in the back - primarily the fault of being pressed up against a door - and her denim button-down was entirely off-kilter, one side tucked neatly into her skirt and the other hanging over her hip. Still, the sight of her in such a state only spurred Rachel's, as it turned out, easily stirred passions even more.

It wasn't as if…things with previous sexual partners hadn't been perfectly nice. Brody certainly knew what he was doing, and Jesse was adventurous and enthusiastic. She and Finn had had things down like clockwork after a few months at it. But _Quinn_…

They had been dating a year now; Rachel hadn't even been entirely sure about the idea or how she felt about it initially, but when Quinn sashayed up to her at Artie's premiere party, under the mild influence of a glass or two of wine, and said, "I'd like to take you out. On a date," Rachel had hardly been able to do or say much more than, "Okay," and sit the rest of the night trying to figure out what just happened. Even when she realized that Quinn Fabray had asked her out and accepted the idea that perhaps Quinn liked her, Rachel hadn't been sure. It took quite a few dates for her to get sure, in fact, that she was not only very fond of Quinn, but that she was very much in like with her, too.

And Quinn had been so patient. Their dates, in the beginning, were so platonic in nature they could have been between two friends. Quinn even took Rachel to the Central Park Zoo once, on a day in which her life wasn't packed with rehearsals. It wasn't until their seventh date, when Quinn dropped her off at her apartment building and Rachel, a little drunk on champagne and the way Quinn glowed under the street lamp, tugged her back for a kiss that Quinn became…_romantic_. In conventional and unconventional ways at once.

Quinn sent Rachel flowers, her favorites, vegan chocolates, brought her out to dinner at the most expensive restaurants in New York, planned a surprise party for her birthday, and gifted her with jewelry when Valentine's Day came around, yes - but she also left grape cough drops in Rachel's pockets when her throat was sore in March, flew her fathers out to New York for her birthday and Christmas, sent her eight customary Jewish gifts for Hanukkah, and taught her how to cook - well enough to survive off something other than takeout, anyway.

Rachel had been crazy for her within six months, and when Quinn popped by Friday night with tea and honey simply because Rachel texted her that she'd had a bad dream - she couldn't wait any longer. And after that first time, she was hooked, so much so that she'd hardly given poor Quinn a break, and she was sorry to admit that she may have been part of the reason Quinn looked so very tired this Sunday morning, shuffling along the sidewalk with a Rachel Berry fused into her side, her chin up so her long neck was frightfully exposed. Rachel kissed it, just to be sure it didn't get too cold, and smiled as she felt Quinn chuckling.

"Why are we outside again?" she whined up at that strong jaw - she kissed it, too. "I miss bed. And your hands. And your lips, and your tongue."

Quinn's arm, until now hanging limply off Rachel's shoulders, squeezed her close and she squirmed nearer with a grin. "We're coming up for air."

"I don't like air, I like you," she giggled, and Quinn barked a laugh.

"Well, besides that, you don't have meat at your place and I need protein, especially if I'm going to keep up with the way you like it," she returned, drawling the last so sexily Rachel couldn't resist popping up to suckle on her earlobe. Another chuckle vibrated against her lips. "I've unleashed a monster. Who'd have known, Ms. Rachel Berry, Broadway star and horn dog extraordinaire."

That earned her an indignant squawk. "I am not a horn dog!"

"Honey, you said you were hungry, and then followed me out to the kitchen and started suck - "

Rachel's cheeks fired red as she covered Quinn's mouth, glancing at the passersby furtively. "I couldn't help it. I missed you."

Quinn's only answer was to shake her head, a faint, wry smile curling her lip up.

Rachel prodded her side. "What?"

"Nothing. It still catches me off guard, that's all."

"That I'm crazy about you?" She grinned cheekily, spying pink coloring Quinn's cheeks now. "I'm afraid you're going to have to get used to that, Quinn Fabray. I love you. Even if you are a meat-eating shiksa."

Quinn's laugh hit the air again and Rachel grinned. "I love you, too."

Rachel lifted her arms up around Quinn's neck and drew her down for a long liplock, passersby be damned.


	27. Chatterbox

**Sum:** AU. Based on dailyau's prompt at chey-no's request: "You're supposed to be on a blind date with someone but you sat down at the wrong table and i haven't been able to get a word in edgewise to tell you that and it's been thirty minutes."

**Chatterbox**

It had become Quinn's habit since moving to her walk-up in Cobble Hill to take up residence at Swollow Cafe off Clinton Street every Friday evening at a table for two next to the window with a steaming coffee and a book split open before her. There was no reason that she could not have done just the same at home on her plush ivory couch, of course, and she would have saved herself a few bucks each week if she had. But she would have missed out on being _out_, among people. Not that she craved any particular interaction; in fact, she enjoyed the sensation of being alongside them, in a glass cage all her own, unnoticed - or at least, unnoticed until this particular Friday evening.

On the evening in question, Quinn's delicate glass cage was completely and utterly shattered when a petite brunette blasted abruptly through and plopped herself down in the chair across from Quinn, prying off winter garments from her weather-flushed skin - and talking.

"Hello! I apologize for my lateness, one of my cast mates couldn't manage the last sequence of Willkommen and the director refused to let us all go until she'd done it three times - three years with the American Ballet Company, indeed - the things some people lie about on their resumes! - anyway, I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, I promise I'm usually very punctual; in fact, some people would say _too_ punctual, generally I arrive at least a half an hour before the appointed time - but at least you had something to occupy yourself with in the meantime, I've only read the libretto to The Phantom of the Opera myself, but I've heard the novel is just as captivating, and I'm glad to know you have some adjacent interest in my work, I don't think I could possibly think of a topic of conversation otherwise! It seems it's all I do lately, work, eat, and sleep - not that I mind, I love my career, it's just that it gets a little lonely sometimes, when you're home alone and there's that quiet moment now and then when you feel pressed in upon by the weight of your alone-ness, do you know what I mean?

"Probably not - I'm sure Kurt would say it's just post-divorce weirdness and that I'll get used to it in time, except I don't think I will, I really can't stand silence and I enjoy just being around people, even if it's just to hear them breathing - oh, that sounded odd, didn't it? I'm sorry, I'm just a little nervous, I'm not normally quite that strange, although I have to admit most people find me obnoxious if not completely, inaccessibly eccentric - but I'm working on it, and I think I'm doing better, except for right this moment. I'm just nervous, I haven't been on a date, let alone a blind date, since - Kurt told you I've recently divorced, didn't he? Well, it's been years, at any rate - since I've gone on a date, that is - my divorce finalized two months ago and I suppose it's kind of shattered my confidence, dating-wise, or so Kurt says, although I'm not really sure I ever had any dating confidence, my husband's the only person who's ever really been interested in me, which I realize now that that doesn't paint me in a very good light - of course, you've probably already realized you're not interested, because, well, who would be? I haven't shut up since I sat down, I was late, and while Kurt told me to look for the gorgeous blonde in the corner, I wasn't anticipating just _how_ gorgeous you would be, and it's obvious that you are_ miles_ out of my league."

Quinn could do little but stare, for this self-deprecating, anxiously prattling woman had not taken a single breath in all the time she'd been talking. It was a feat not easily achieved, though, from what she was able to gather, the brunette was involved in musical theater and, as a singer, would require a great lung capacity. Still, Quinn was dying for a window in which to speak, for as simultaneously entertaining and strange this was, the poor woman was already a bundle of nerves - how bad would she be once she realized she had sat at the _wrong_ table?

Not that Quinn minded the company, at least not now that she understood why this animated creature had disturbed her reading, and she hadn't seen another blonde in the vicinity. Besides, she had no idea what this Kurt's standards of beauty were, so that wouldn't have narrowed it down any even if there were. It was possible that the blind date had been there before the brunette arrived and left, assuming she'd been stood up, of course. Or, given how long she'd been going on - thirty minutes now, Quinn noted, and she was on to discussing her ex-husband, who was not entirely out of her league, but how things had fallen spectacularly apart regardless - the blind date had been here when the brunette arrived, but was now gone. Either way, once Quinn finally had an opportunity to point out the mistake, the little singer would not only be mortified, but likely think she'd been stood up once she realized she was quite alone, outside of Quinn's company.

" - anyway, it was all a bit of a school girl fantasy on my part, too many rom-coms growing up, but things are different now and I know there's no such thing as meant to be or soulmates or destiny, though sometimes I still like to think me and Broadway were fate, but then I wonder, does that depreciate all my hard work to get there, because it was all bound to happen anyway, regardless of effort?"

Big, brown eyes peered at Quinn, eyebrows furrowed over them in thought - and it took Quinn a moment to realize that silence had fallen. The absence of her mellifluous voice was as startling as her old cheer coach's foghorn had once been, and she tripped over her lips and tongue in a rush to speak.

"I-it's up to you, what you believe, but I personally prefer to believe I have a choice."

Long lashes batted at her once, and the line of her red lips moistened. Quinn cleared her throat.

"Except for right now, because I have to tell you - I wasn't waiting for anyone. I'm not your blind date."

She grimaced, and, as she'd predicted, her little singer went full-on red in the face and her eyes as wide as saucers.

"But - Kurt said - oh, God. I'm-I'm-I'm so, so, so, so sorry!" Winter garments flew back over her lush, tanned skin as she stood, panicking so entirely she hadn't even thought to look for her real date. "I'm so sorry, I can't believe - I'm just, I'm really - "

If Quinn didn't cut in now, she was certain the woman would be out the door still in mid-apology before she received another window. She stood and spoke firmly.

"Don't be sorry, it's all right."

The brunette's rapid retreat halted, for the moment, to stare owl-eyed up at her, struck silent once again by Quinn's voice.

"It was an honest mistake, and I didn't mind. In fact, I'm sure your date is gone by now, and I wouldn't want you to go home alone in the cold with an empty belly, so why don't you sit back down and I'll buy you a coffee."

Her red lips pursed and parted. "Why would you - I mean, why are you being so nice to me? I just swooped in here and ruined what was obviously private time for you and - why would you want to buy me a coffee?"

A smile prickled at Quinn's lips. "Because I think you're eccentric, entertaining, and genuine. I happen to like it. And while I'm not Kurt-recommended, I am punctual - some would say too punctual - hygienic, and well-dressed. I don't smoke or do drugs, I only drink in moderation, I have a college degree, I happen to think dreams come first, unlike your ex-husband, and let's face it, I am easy on the eyes."

She was beaming by the time Quinn had finished, and her decision was solidified.

"So can I get you a coffee?"

Pearly white teeth tucked into those red lips to contain what appeared to be an even larger smile. "Sure. Though I don't usually let strangers buy me drinks…"

Quinn offered her hand. "Quinn Fabray."

The brunette tucked into it with a firm shake. "Rachel Berry."

"Lovely making your acquaintance; can I ask how you take your coffee, Miss Berry?"

Rachel laughed. "Two sugars."

Quinn couldn't contain a grin of her own. "Coming right up. Don't go anywhere."

And though she stepped away to summon a barista, she heard Rachel's quiet reply, "Wouldn't dream of it."

Friday evenings had more than made up for their cost in coffee, Quinn decided.


	28. Darcy

**Sum:** S2E16. Quinn comes to Rachel's after their argument.

**Darcy**

The first knock, when it came, was so startling to Rachel's laser-focused mind that she stabbed a hole in the wrinkled, tear-stained pages and left a dot of black ink on her covers. Her huff, therefore, was twice as loud when she answered the intrusion on her work.

"I told you, I don't want to talk about it, please just go away!"

Her fathers had been beyond bewildered when she arrived home early from glee, a fountain of tears that quickly took refuge from their alarm behind a slammed door, but they had been surprisingly respectful since then. And Rachel, after a glance at the clock now that she'd been disturbed in all her scribbling, scratching, and scoring, had to give them their dues - it had been hours of silence. Realizing this didn't do Rachel any favors, however, for she was quickly forced to contend with the fact that her hand was cramping, her face felt hot and sticky from dried tears, and she desperately needed to blow her nose. In short, she was a mess, and it had only been her determination that had saved her from feeling her misery prior to this.

As she reached to snatch a tissue from her nightstand, the second knock came. Rachel puffed. They weren't going to go away, and they _had_ waited quite a while to hear their explanation. She wadded up the tissue and tossed it on her way, readying a smile, only to stop short the moment she opened the door.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

It wasn't that Rachel meant to be rude. Or, maybe she did. After all, Quinn Fabray had only a few hours ago broken her down to tears - and had, admittedly, inspired Rachel to words she hadn't known waited inside her. But the fact remained, Quinn Fabray had only just a few hours ago reaffirmed her ongoing disdain for Rachel, and now she had the audacity to stand outside her bedroom door, in her home. Rachel wished she'd had time to tidy herself, if not her room, a bit more.

"Did you write anything?"

Rachel was so caught off-guard by the question that for a moment, she only stared up at blonde eyebrows, hiking every second she was silent. "I - well, yes, I did, but if you came here thinking you'd take equal credit - "

Quinn was blatantly ignoring her. "Let me see it."

Again, Rachel found herself too unbalanced to offer a proper reply and went to retrieve the pages. The door latched behind her; Quinn had taken the liberty of stepping inside, but made it no farther than the threshold. Rachel passed the papers over, and Quinn's eyes were instantly otherwise occupied, allowing Rachel time to breathe and to puzzle out - why was she here? Why did she care whether Rachel had written anything? Why did she even want to read it? True, Quinn had called her a talented songwriter - but then, also true, she had said Rachel hadn't written any good songs. Couldn't write any good songs, in fact. And either way, whether Quinn thought one or the other, she would hear the song in glee rehearsals; she didn't need to come all the way out to Rachel's house to read it. Unless, as Rachel had initially suspected, she wanted to take equal credit. Which, now that Rachel considered it, was only fair. She had borrowed Quinn's turn of phrase, and she never would have written it without Quinn…

The papers were thrust under her nose and Rachel shuffled them reflexively against her waist.

"It's good."

Rachel stared up at her cool hazel gaze, waiting for eloquent words and a velvet voice to persuade her, but Quinn only turned back to the door. She should have been relieved, happy, even, but she couldn't stop herself -

"Wait, that's it?"

Quinn craned over her shoulder, eyebrow arched inquisitively.

"You're not going to ask for credit, or offer any criticisms, or warn me to stay away from Finn?"

"Would it do any good?"

Rachel gnawed her lip. "Probably not."

"Then I won't waste my breath. As for the rest, it's your song."

"Well, why did you want to read it then? You could have just waited to hear it with everyone else. Why come here, of all places, if you didn't have to? I mean, why did you even want to write with me in the first place when you still hate me so much? Why-why be nice to me when - I mean, I thought we were becoming…friendly, if not friends. Why did you bother, if you didn't mean it? I just…I don't understand what your goal was; it couldn't have just been to get me to write a song. Could it?"

Quinn's lips remained as perfectly pursed as ever. She wasn't going to answer. And really, Rachel should have expected as such. Quinn did what she did and if someone didn't like it, didn't understand it, then that was their problem, which meant Rachel had a lot of problems, because she hardly ever understood Quinn. At least in regards to herself, that is, for since last year, Quinn had run the gamut between hot and cold, yes and no - from agreeing to ask Finn out for her to drawing unflattering troll pictures of her. Now she had slid up and promptly down the thermometer for a hundredth time, and this one had been a doozy. Rachel just wanted to know why, and it appeared she would never know, until just as suddenly as Quinn had turned vicious earlier, she spoke firmly now.

"You're bossy." Quinn's eyebrows rose, challenging, but Rachel could manage not a word. "Loud, I would even say shrill, and on top of that you never shut up. You dress like you were locked naked in a closet with no lights, and your enthusiasm for yourself knows utterly no bounds. You're as stupidly persistent as a pitbull on a pant leg and as dumb as a toddler about what you want and what's good for you."

"I don't think insulting me more than you already have today is - "

"I'm not finished," she snipped, and in spite of herself, Rachel went silent again. Quinn puffed, twice. "And yet…and yet, I have remotely fond feelings toward you. I want you to succeed."

Rachel blinked. Quinn was fond of her. Quinn wanted her to succeed. '_You don't belong here, Rachel, and you can't hate me for helping to send you on your way_.'

Quinn thought she was _helping_. Quinn was trying to help her succeed, in just the way she had just told Rachel she was fond of her - insultingly, convolutedly.

But that was Quinn, wasn't it? Kindness didn't come naturally to her, but it was in there. Liking Rachel didn't come naturally to her, but it, too, was in there. It found its expressions in Quinn's naturally curmudgeonly attitude.

Or perhaps it was the other way around. Perhaps kindness and liking Rachel were the natural pieces, and the sterner side of Quinn was the facade, only it couldn't always be maintained.

Or maybe it was all natural, all pieces of Quinn, and this was the only way she knew how to show her kindness, her fondness.

But regardless, Quinn Fabray was fond of her. Rachel smiled.

"So, what you're saying is…you like me just as I am?"

Even the sneer crossing pink lips couldn't wipe away Rachel's impish grin. "This isn't a rom-com, and I am not Mr. Darcy."

Rachel considered that. "Actually, you - "

"I'm not." Quinn's insistence was such that Rachel had to bite back a laugh. "And I don't like you."

"Right. You have remotely fond feelings toward me, and you believe in my dreams, in spite of envisioning a mere real estate agent's life for yourself."

Quinn's lips tightened. "If everyone was destined for greatness, there would be no one to cheer for the great."

Rachel was aghast. "But you're Quinn Fabray. You're not just a cheerlead - okay, you are - you were a cheerleader, but you're also at the top of our class, you're a lovely singer _and_ dancer, you're a natural leader, you even wrote some decent lyrics while we were working together - you're Quinn Fabray! You're the whole package: you're smart, you're talented, you're athletic, and, well, look at you. Sometimes I think you must have a stupid, unskilled, lazy, ugly twin out there you've stolen all those quality genes from."

Quinn only stared with inescapable hazel eyes, entirely unreadable. Rachel's fingers twisted together.

"All I'm saying is that you shouldn't limit yourself to Lima and real estate just because you don't have an obvious talent like me. You have so much more to offer than you seem to realize."

This time, she managed to elicit a blink. "The song's good. Mr. Schuester will like it."

Before Rachel could pull up a reply to this, Quinn had gone, door shut behind her, but still, she couldn't help but smile. Somehow, she felt she had turned a corner with Quinn Fabray today, a real one this time. Perhaps one that wouldn't suddenly drop down to cold tomorrow. She curled up in bed still smiling and thinking how odd it was to have two conversations with one person in the same day - one which left her unable to stop crying, and one which left her unable to stop smiling.


End file.
